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littleladymab · 1 year ago

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"Hey Mab why did you ask for a supercut of all the times Shin stared at Sabine with intense lesbianism and you just said 'for reasons'?"

This is the reason.

For @sabineweek, the alternate prompt for the 17th: Shin+Sabine. If the fight at the end of episode 7 went a bit differently.

available on AO3 here!

Also shoutouts to the bestie @laprismaluna who sent me several Shin edits on tiktok so I could speedrun the entirety of Shin's character arc

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Shin’s knees hit the ground hard, and her saber hilt scatters from her grip as she doubles over. For an instant, all she can hear is the roar of blood in her ears and the harsh grating of her breath in her lungs before it fades — replaced by the whispered promise of the two white blades framing her neck.

Warning her from trying anything.

She hears Sabine’s voice, a vibrant bolt of blaster fire piercing the static, and Shin lifts her chin enough that she can see the other woman from beneath Ahsoka’s elbow.

Sabine’s eyes are trained on her, still gripping the hilt of Bridger’s lightsaber in one hand and her blaster in the other. Shin’s mouth splits into a grin that is all teeth. A warning of her own. Do it, she wants to say. I dare you.

“Ahsoka,” Sabine says, and there’s the frayed edge of patience to the name. “Please.”

The sabers retract and the look that the Togruta levels at Shin isn’t the studied calmness she expects a Jedi would sport. There’s a riot of emotions in the Force coming from all three of them that wash across their faces as easily as breathing. Anger, frustration, regret, exhaustion.

Worst of all: there’s understanding.

Not pity, which she would have spit back in their faces. She doesn’t need a Jedi’s pity.

But the sound of the dropship’s engines drowns out any lingering chatter from the night trooper’s comms. They are taking off, and they are abandoning her, just like her master abandoned her, and Ahsoka looks at her with the understanding of someone left behind.

Shin lunges.

Not for her lightsaber; Bridger snatched that up and she doesn’t have the strength to rip it from his hands. Instead, she aims to tackle Ahsoka to the ground. Years of growing up scrapping in the streets before Baylan found her have honed her survival instincts to a weapon. The rage burns and burns in her until the kernel of her heart catches fire and she won’t stop clawing her way to freedom and power and—

It’s not Ahsoka who catches her. It’s Sabine.

The Mandalorian darts forward with more dexterity than possible, but Bridger’s smirk gives away his involvement. She catches Shin’s wrist to yank her arm off-course and twists to accommodate their momentum.

In a tangle of legs and a grunt of surprise, Shin finds herself on her back, Sabine pinning her down, staring up at the cloudy sky as the dropship disappears from view. That kernel of her heart burns and her eyes burn and the scream in the back of her throat burns and she swallows it all down.

She thrashes, still that girl on the streets, still struggling for survival and validation. She tastes blood in her mouth, feels the sharp burst of pain from her bitten tongue. Things that scream alive as a threat not a reminder.

But Sabine is stronger than she looks, and Shin can’t feel the tether of the Force through her rage, so they remain on the ground.

“Just—” Sabine’s hair is a spark of color in the otherwise dull, washed out landscape of Peridea. “Let us help you.”

“Help me?” Shin rasps, uncertain if she wants to laugh or snarl at the offer. “Why would you help me?”

I want to kill you, Shin almost says and grins at the flutter of anticipation in her stomach the thought gives her. I will be the one to kill you.

“I don’t know if you know this about Jedi—” Sabine starts, but Shin doesn’t want to hear how the rest of that sentence ends.

She knees Sabine in the gut and the other woman doubles over as the air is knocked out of her.

Shin swings, wild and uncontrolled and can feel the catch of flint striking steel as the Force returns to her grasp. She curls her fingers around it, forming a fist, and this time she lunges at Sabine.

Sabine rolls aside to dodge the first blow and blocks the second with her vambrace. Her fingers twitch, reaching for one of the triggers at her wrist, but Shin doesn’t give her the chance.

She sees the hand move out of the corner of her eye and catches Sabine's forearm, wishing she could dig her nails into the soft skin beneath the metal armor. Beskar deflects a lightsaber’s blade and blaster bolts, but it won’t be enough to keep out Shin’s anger. She will squeeze and rend until there is nothing protecting the pulse and tendons.

Until Sabine surprises her by hauling off and punching her hard in the jaw.

Shin’s head snaps to the side with the force of the blow and it shocks her back into stillness. The howling anger in her head goes quiet, cowed into submission. Gingerly, she lifts a hand to touch the split lip and the silver of her gauntlet comes away bright red with her blood.

“I thought the Jedi didn’t resort to such base tactics,” she comments dryly and spits a mouthful of blood into the dirt beside her.

“Ezra taught me that—” Sabine starts, but Bridger immediately bleats in protest.

“I did not teach you to punch people!” he says, sounding wounded by the insult to his character. He sounds like just a boy, whining like a child who didn’t get what he wanted. And this is supposed to be the powerful Jedi that everyone wants destroyed? This is supposed to be her ticket to power?

Sabine sits back on her haunches, far enough away that Shin can’t easily strike at her, but not too far that she wouldn’t be able to react quickly if Shin tries to make a run for it. She rolls her eyes, but there’s a fondness there that makes a tiny, hungry part of Shin ache. “He taught me about how Jedi always see the best in people,” she explains, and the wry smile on her lips is for the man behind her — but Shin is the only one who can see it. “That everyone deserves a hand offered of peace.”

There’s a beat, when Sabine’s dark eyes study Shin, looking for something beneath the wary hunch of her shoulders.

And just when Shin thinks there is no possible way she could have found whatever it is, Sabine holds out a hand towards her.

“Let us help you,” Sabine says, her voice low and gentle. A kindness offered, and it is so foreign and terrifying that Shin almost smacks the hand away and rejects it outright.

“Why?” Shin repeats, because she still doesn’t understand. “What reason do you have to believe that I won’t kill you the moment your guard is lowered? That I won’t kill Ezra Bridger, who you fought so hard to protect?”

Sabine glances over her shoulder at Bridger. Ahsoka has moved to stand back with him, and they talk in low voices that don’t make it across the distance to them. He’s toying with Shin’s lightsaber, studying the hilt and design, and she seethes at how casual he is with her weapon. Her life.

As if he can sense her attention, Bridger looks up. His lips purse behind his beard, and he seems to debate something for a moment.

He sets her lightsaber down on the rock beside him, and his hands retreat into the sleeves of his coat as he returns to his conversation with Ahsoka.

When Shin turns back, Sabine is watching her. Her hair tousled from their fight and a smudge of a darkening bruise high up on one cheek. Her hand is still stretched out, palm up, inviting.

After another long pause, Sabine sighs and she presses both hands to her knees so she can push herself upright. The door not quite slamming shut; a crack left open to the sliver of light beyond. “You don’t have to decide now. But you will still have to be our prisoner until you do decide.”

“You mean until I decide to let you help me?” There’s something vulnerable in the question that Shin doesn’t like — the idea that she has to let these people help her, to see the weakest parts of her and still be there to support her.

“Of course.”

Shin gives her a once over. Bridger left her lightsaber aside, a clear invitation that she could take it and he wouldn’t stop her.

It would be so easy, she thinks, to call it to her hand and feel that power thrum through her in the light of her orange blade. The howl of her anger and her kyber crystal in concert as they always are.

She thinks of Baylan who stood and let her walk away. Your ambition, he said, like it wasn’t something he instilled in her. Your ambition, like it wasn’t something she thought they shared. Your ambition, like it was something he regretted. The fuel that kept her going.

She thinks of the dropships who took the troopers and left her behind, even after they had come when called to destroy Sabine Wren and Ezra Bridger. The power she felt as she saw the plan come together crumbling just as quickly as they ignored her orders. They were never there for her.

“We’re not Jedi,” Sabine says into the silence. “It’s not one or the other. You can be something more.” She turns her back on Shin to join Ahsoka and Bridger, and that sends the anger racing through her veins.

Shin surges to her feet and all three immediately react. Bridger levels the stolen trooper blaster at her, sighting down it like a trained soldier. Ahsoka grips the hilts of her lightsabers, but doesn’t ignite them.

Sabine simply goes still, hands out to either side of her and fingers splayed.

It would be so easy to kill her.

“Stop,” Shin says, though she doesn’t know who she is saying it to. “I’ll go. I’ll— I’ll think about it. But I’ll go with you.” The words tie up her tongue and are hard to get out, but somehow she manages it.

Bridger heaves a sigh, more resigned than relieved, and Ahsoka frowns. But Sabine’s shoulders relax, and she tilts her head just enough to give Shin a small, tired smile. Smug, as if she’d known that would be the answer all along.

A secret, just between them.

#star wars #rebels #ahsoka #wolfwren #a lil miss fic #lil miss writings #sabine week 2023 #i will confess i have only watched about 15 minutes of episode 7 and that was jumping around to skip parts no i have not watched this show #I figure if the show writers didn't have to watch rebels before they wrote it i wouldn't have to watch ahsoka before writing for it #so saying forgive any glaring inaccuracies on how they might actually refer to each other the ads on d+ did not make me want to double chec

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the-mandawhor1an · 15 days ago

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Where did Maia get her first lightsaber from? Will we find out?

Woop woop, the first Maia Monday and we run right into (possibly) the biggest plot hole in existence.

To give the short answer: We don't know, and we'll probably never know (because keeping lore in mind, the original plan of how she stumbled upon them doesn't make sense)

Okay, let's talk about lightsabers for a minute.

I have to make a clear distinction here between the "original" Maia, whom I will refer to as "Maia Prime" from now on, and the Roleplay Maia, aka the one whose story I'm writing here on Tumblr.

Why do I have to make that distinction? Two reasons:

Maia Prime's sabers have an origin story, whereas Tumblr Maia's don't (yet?)

Maia Prime's sabers are different, both in materials and blade color

I'll start with Tumblr Maia:

Her saber is a split saber, which means it is two sabers (of equal length) that can be combined into a saberstaff (a double-bladed saber)

Think Cal Kestis:

Maia has so far only used one of the sabers while fighting (*cough* up until Chapter 10). The blades are lavender-colored, so ironically a little similar to the ones in the GIF, just a little more blue-tinted. This, in return, makes the blades look white-ish in yellow envorinments (like on Tatooine)

The metal is dark, kind of anthracite. Perhaps the dark-grey tint of Din's armor.

How she got it, we don't know so far. In fact, Din in the RP never asked so I didn't have to think about it. (Zaddy istg if Din asks her now I will bite your ass)

Now we talk about Maia Prime

The biggest difference is the blade color, it is also a split saber. Maia Prime's blades are ultramarine, a dark, rich in-between color or blue and purple, or lorvingly called

Why did I change the color to lavender? Well. I knew some day I would cosplay her and this intense dark blue will look TERRIBLE in pictures

See what the saber does to Ani's face? Yeah, a darker blurple blade would make the situation even worse (tbh I love that they used LED-lit sabers in the Obi-Wan Series but the blue sheen on the faces was a little distracting)

Also, the metal.

Maia Prime has saber hilts made of Beskar.

Does it make sense? Fuck no. Was it cool and a little self-indulging? Fuck yeah.

Maia Prime got these sabers as a parting gift from Raymond. He left them with the contact that would bring her away from the facility. It's her most prized posession and also holds sentimental value.

Why does it not make sense?

Where did Raymond get Beskar from? Where did he get kyber crystals from?

Looking a little further into the lore behind how a Jedi chooses their saber crystal, that's where things get a little tricky. The Jedi doesn't really choose their crystal. The crystal chooses the person (which is why the Darksaber is a little Diva, btw)

That's why it doesn't make sense why Raymond could just give his daughter sabers willy-nilly. Even if we forget that the resources are hard to get by, the chance of stumbling onto the right crystals is sheer impossible.

Now, as the Darksaber also 'allows' more than one wielder, the crystals could get used to Maia.

Mostly the availability of those resources is what made me scrap the idea of Raymond gifting the sabers to her. Combine that with Din and any member of the covenant freaking out about Beskar forged into a weapon. I also thought about making Raymond an undercover ex-Jedi, but then again... why would I?

Well, that concludes the first episode of Maia Monday, aka "Wolke yaps about Maia for too long"

Thank you very much for the question! 💜

#MaiaMondays #gbtscbtf #Maia the not-Jedi #Wolke schreibt

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zelphin124 · 1 year ago

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Art and design by @xghost-reaperx

Introducing Orel!Sans

Orel!Sans lived in an AU where controlling objects around them were normal. He doesn't remember much. What he does remember is the destruction of his AU by Iro!Sans, but he only remembers her face, not what she did. Orel seeks Iro for answers. He fused with Orel!Gaster during his AUs destruction, giving him abnormal Gaster abilities, including his many hands.

Orel!Sans wields a blade similar to a double-blade lightsaber. All of his hands can use this blade. He's a mixture of Summer and Winter Sans personality wise. He's very clever and powerful. He has two white hands out of his many black hands. These are the hands that control the rest. They usually reside on his face unless he's attacking with multiple hands.

Orel seeks Iro to this day for answers about his AU, but occasionally helps AUs that he stumbled upon. How he helps them is unknown. Until he finds her, he resides and assists anyone he can, saying "I don't know, it just seems right to do so."

#undertale au #utmv #undertale #sans au #oc #oc stuff #orel sans #Orel!Sans #Iro!Sans #Iro sans #OrelTale #IroTale

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bcssly-blog · 7 years ago

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@madestoried || continued

the simple push didn’t phase her much. thevara was an intimidating height, and her experience and knowledge of the force allowed her to sustain grip with the ground beneath, having caught after being pushed a few feet away. though it was still very much unexpected. suddenly a familiar sound, the sound of air moving as it’s forcefully manipulated, a light crackling to compliment, ending with a loud hum as the white crystal ignites.‘ you’re making this difficult, girl. ’ one of two sabers had been drawn, mostly to intimidate. and to show she wasn’t playing around.

#madestoried #thevara ; ║▌█#ooc; tbh idek what she's trying to get rey to tell her? xD ; ║▌█#ooc; also yes hi. don't worry about the delay! it's okay. ; ║▌█#ooc; also thevara generally has a double-bladed lightsaber with a white color crystal but i'm changing it from the game and giving her two.#just an fyi c: ; ║▌█#ooc; and lastly-- Thevara is actually a jedi? but she's mean af. so ; ║▌█

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whatanoof · 3 years ago

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Battling Death Itself

Anon I am so sorry that this took so long. Stuff happens, but it's still frustrating to not know if someone is ignoring your ask, if tumblr ate it, or if(like in this case) requests are just taking abnormally long. But here we go, hope you're ready for the angsty angst:(

gif credit to @badbatch

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, swearing, death omen-like stuff, creepy dream, fluff

Summary: As a medic, you’re used to battling bleeds, cuts, burns, etc. You’re used to patients who are willing to heal, not one reckless Jedi Padawan who is ready to throw everything away to accomplish his mission.

A/N: A huge thank you to my friend @marvelassassin221b for the help with this prompt when I got stuck. You da best, and never forget it

One cannot go through a war and come out unchanged. You can pretend that the terror, violence, anger, anxiety, and selfish instinct didn’t affect you. You can gaslight and fool yourself until the bantha come home, but no one, not even the smallest civilian child, walks away without it burning into their minds like a brand of survival that will cost some of your humanity.

When you dream, you dream of a pile of lightsabers. There must be hundreds, maybe thousands, piled high enough that you cannot make out the ground from your position at the peak of the mountain. They clink and jangle under your feet, like a death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

You want to leave. You have to leave, you can feel the spirits of the fallen Jedi Order hovering over your head, gazing down at you in disapproval everytime you disrespect their revered weapons. You take a step off of the peak.

A rending screech echoes into the death filled air, and the metal handles collapse under your feet, sliding down the side of the mountain like an avalanche and taking you with it. The sabers pile over your head, blocking out the already dim light.

Have to leave. Have to fight. So you thrash furiously, clawing at the tomb encapsulating your living body among the dead. Somehow, you find the surface. You break through the pile with a gasp, inhaling air into your starved lungs, hands pawing at the moving surface to keep you afloat in the raw desperation of survival instinct.

A weathered lightsaber is clenched in your hand, double bladed and beaten up. With a shaking hand, you press the button to activate the blade. The blue blade slices through the air with a throaty thrum and through the reality of your dream, dropping you into the darkness. You hit the ground with a grunt, somehow not impaling yourself on the lightsaber even as you stare in awestruck horror. Because you recognize the blade and handle.

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder, and you whirl with a gasp. A tall figure stands behind you, a Lasat male with kind eyes and clad in robes belonging to a Jedi. He holds a hand out to you, “That doesn’t belong to the living world.”

---

The crackle of the comm yanks you out of your fitful doze, but as you strain to listen from your position in the sitting area, no words come through the white noise. You sit up and look into the cockpit. Cere is typing furiously with eyes glued to frequency readings in front of her.

Seconds later the array in front of Greez begins to beep and the Latero leans forward to study the sensor map display. A tiny ship lit in red dances through the grid. Greez grabs the holo and enlarges it, examining the lines of the ship carefully.

“Cere--”

“Greez--”

The two stop and look at each other before Cere takes precedence, “I’ve only seen these kinds of frequencies from one kind of occupation.”

Greez nods, “I recognize the ship. It’s Haxion Brood.”

You stand and approach his chair, “Axiom what?”

Greez replies, arms darting across the controls with ease as he manipulates the energy to further analyze the readings from the environment. “The Haxion Brood, kid. Biggest smuggling and gambling ring in the Outer Rim.” He turns his head to address Cere. “I can decode their transmissions. Transfer the readings to my screen.”

Cere hits a few buttons and Greez pulls a headset over his ears. The air in the room is so thick that you could cut it with a vibroblade, until Greez speaks, “We have to go. Cere, set a course for these star coordinates.” Cere takes a single look at the symbols and nods before heading to the navigation map.

Your brow scrunches, “How do you understand their code?”

Greez waves your question off, “Not important. Point is, I can, and I know where we have to go.”

Everything is moving far too fast for you to understand. “And where is that?”

Greez barks out a sharp laugh, “Officially? Nowhere.” One arm distracts itself from the preflight check to dissolve the coordinates from the holo projector. “Unofficially? Ordo Eris.”

The Mantis lurches as it takes off and you stumble, “Wait, we have to wait for Cal to get back!”

Cere speaks from her position at the map, “He’s not coming back. We’re going to get him.”

‘Why would you need to go to Ord--’ You feel the blood drain from your face with the realization. What did the dream mean? A grim understanding filters into the processed air so that no words are needed.

“Get your kit ready. We’re going to need it.”

---

“Strap in, kid!”

Even with all of your preparation for the moment of contact, you’re still not ready for the awful screeching and rending of metal that echoes through the hull as it contacts the floor of the arena. Above the chaos and noise, you hear Greez curse. The harness digs painfully into your skin, but it keeps you in your seat long enough for the Mantis to jolt to a stop. The door opens, and Cal stumbles on board, lightsaber glowing in his hand while the other clutches his side. BD-1 clings to his shirt, beeping and chirping as it hangs on for dear life.

“Go go go!” Cal collapses against the wall, gasping for air. BD screeches and jumps onto the floor, gazing up at Cal and blipping while glancing at you periodically. You can’t tear your eyes away from the lightsaber, which has slipped to the ground in the frenzy. That doesn’t belong in the living world.

Greez hasn’t stopped swearing colorfully in at least five different languages excluding Basic, but it all fades to the background as you fumble to release your harness. “Cal!”

It’s not releasing, why isn’t it releasin--

The mechanism clicks and you’re out of your seat before the Mantis is fully off the ground. You reach Cal right as he begins to slip, “Whoa, careful there.”

Damn he’s heavy. You lower him to the ground, supporting his head on your lap. He chuckles breathlessly with eyes half-closed, “Why should I try to be careful when I have you?”

You laugh shakily, “I can’t be with you all of the time.” BD-1 bobs its head in agreement, dragging your med bag within reach with one foot.

Greez calls back, “Hang on, making the jump now!”

You grab a support bar and hunch over Cal. BD hops into your lap, and you wrap your other arm around the little droid to help hold it steady against you until the ship stops shaking around you and the peaceful quiet of hyperspace fills the hull. You allow yourself to breathe as the asteroid fades into the distance out the viewport. For now, the world will hold together.

---

By the time Cere comes back to check on you, you’ve maneuvered Cal into an upright position propped against the wall.

“Hey.” She sounds tired, stressed, strung tight like a bow string that’s about to snap. “Greez set course for Kashyyyk. We can lay low there, the Rebels have all but driven out the rest of the Imperials.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Cal is silent beside you. BD-1 boops its agreement.

She continues, “That rescue tore up the Mantis a bit. Overworked the thrusters and damaged internal regulating software, so Greez and I are going down to run diagnostics and see what we can repair en route. BD.” The little droid chirps. “Gonna need your help with the electrical portion.” BD-1 bobs its head and scampers over to her, and Cere puts a hand on the floor so that the droid can climb her shirt to her shoulder. She straightens, and regards the two of you, “All good here?”

You nod. “This guy needs a little patching up too.”

Cal gives a halfhearted wave and grin from his position on the floor, “Can confirm.”

Cere chuckles, “Alright then. Comm if you need anything. And be responsible.”

“I’m always responsible.” Cal protests. Cere doesn’t respond to him, opting instead to glance at you with an amused resignation in her eyes. She turns and leaves with BD, who chirps a goodbye as they vanish through the trapdoor that leads to the engine room.

You sigh and turn back to Cal, “I don’t even know where to start. Here.” You tug his poncho to get him to sit up.

“Careful. There’s acid.”

You yank your hand back with a hiss, shaking it off as you study the cloth. He’s right, there’s discoloration around his abdomen and the poncho is smoking, something that you missed in the chaos of landing and taking off from Ordo Eris. Upon closer examination, the acid had eaten through the poncho and soaked into the shirt below. Luckily, none touched your skin, but more unluckily, Cal has been wearing his shirt for far too long to be healthy.

“Take it off.” You lift the edge of his shirt to help him pull it over his head.

He grunts as the fabric lifts, revealing reddened and irritated skin that you begin to put healing balm on, “If you wanted me shirtless, all you had to do was ask.”

Blood rushes to your face even as you send an unimpressed look his way. He’s grinning, a smug and infuriating grin that lets you know that he knows that he got to you. You spread more of the medicine onto his skin, “You’re surprisingly chatty for someone who almost died.”

He stretches his arms, painfully attractive with how his chest and arms flex and his face scrunches and his hair--

You blink, abandoning the train of thought and finishing your work. You cap the medicine and return it to your bag. “Let me check your leg.” He sends you a look, a frustrated look that is so unique to Cal that it makes you chuckle. “I saw you limp in here, don’t give me that face.”

He groans, “I’m fine. It got me in the door, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. Typical. “Take them off.”

“Is this a strip game or something?” He’s… flirting with you?

“Do it.”

You did not think that this is how you would be getting Cal Kestis pantless in front of you for the first time. You’d imagined that you would be more excited with every inch of skin exposed, that your heart would race and the blood would rush to your face and your… yeah.

But instead, your stomach drops with every bruise that is revealed, the lump in your throat grows when you hear him suck a breath through gritted teeth when the cloth rubs over sensitive skin. By the time he’s pulled the pants around his ankles, your jaw is clenched hard enough to hurt. There’s a gash the length of your hand slicing across his skin. Although it’s gratefully shallow and mostly clotted, it's ugly enough to garner a double take and a long stare as you consider your options. When you speak, it’s a barely breathed whisper.

“Damn it Cal.”

He laughs, but you can hear the pained grunt that he tries to hide when he shifts, “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“When did you do this to your leg?” You yank a bacta bag out.

He hisses as you disinfect the area, “Uh, a little after I found BD. Right before I went into the arena.”

You stop cold and stare at him, “You fought on this?”

“Well what else was I supposed to do? Roll over and die?”

You sputter, “No, but I-- no.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, a single, infuriatingly sassy, red eyebrow and lays back to allow you to apply the bacta infusion.

“How’s it going in here?” Cere chooses that exact moment to walk in, and you suppose you should be grateful that she didn’t witness the petty argument.

You shoot a look at Cal, but he’s refusing to meet your eyes. So kriffing immature. You respond to Cere, “Good. Could be better.”

She nods once, “We received a transmission from the rebel. Tarfull is willing to meet you, Cal. There are contacts on Kashyyyk that will direct you to him.”

Cal’s face is drawn and serious, aging him ten years as he considers her words. “Tell them I’ll be there. How long until we reach Kashyyyk?”

“An hour. Enough time to finish the inflight electrical repairs, so BD will be available to go with you.”

“I’ll be ready.” What? Did you just hear him correctly?

You wait until Cere leaves the room before you whirl on Cal, “Are you crazy?”

“What?”

But you’re not listening anymore, “No, you’re definitely crazy, or I’m going crazy, because I just heard you tell Cere that you would be ready to plunge into the wilderness while you’re half dead.” A pile of lightsabers.

“It’s a cut, I’m hardly half de--”

“Okay, a cut. A cut that could get infected, or could start bleeding again, or could slow you down. It won’t be such an easy fix next time if you go out like this.”

He says your name sharply, “It’s my job to go and get that holocron.”

You cross your arms over your chest tightly, hugging close enough in hopes that you can calm your pounding heart, “And it’s my job to keep you alive.”

“The longer we wait, the more danger Tarfull is in. The Rebels can’t stay in one place forever.” He pushes off of the wall, aiming to propel himself off of the ground and stand, but you catch him with a firm hand in the center of his chest.

“You need rest. Bacta might be a miracle of modern medicine, but it can’t work in an hour.” A death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

He says your name, so seriously and rigidly that you stop and look at him, “Let me get up. I need to go.”

“No!” Your fingers twitch over the needle. “Cal Kestis. You stay right there, or I swear to the Maker I will sedate you!” Fallen Jedi hovering over you.

“This isn’t a matter of my own well being anymore, our mission is on the line!” He pushes your hand away and sits up. “This is for those children out there, so that the Sisters don’t get to them, so that they can have normal lives.”

“Don’t you fucking put that on me Cal, I know what is at risk. I know that you are the only stars forsaken Jedi in this Maker damned galaxy who can help those children, but what use are you to them if you’re dead?!” Lightsabers rattling over your head, trapping the living amongst the dea--

“It doesn’t matt--”

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!” You’re screaming, you know that you shouldn’t be screaming when he’s lying there injured and possibly dying, when you know that his heart is pure in intention, but why can’t he see how much you need him to be okay. Your fists are clenched, waving in the air above him and its only when his eyes widen and he puts his hands up defensively that you realize you had picked up the hypodermic needle.

Your eyes meet his and your body trembles, whether from rage or fear you can’t tell. Carefully, moving millimeter by millimeter, you lower your hand and drop the needle. It makes no sound as it hits the ground, which is remarkable considering how effectively it had silenced the situation.

“I--” Your voice cracks and in any other situation you would be embarrassed. But you clear your throat roughly, “I can’t lose you. I won’t let you go off and get yourself killed. You need to let your body heal, because you can keep going, keep pushing yourself to the limit and I have no doubt that you are strong enough to, but your body is going to fail you one day, and it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t just yet so please listen to me, I’ve never asked for you to stay before.” You’re rambling, you’re talking too much because you scraped just a little too close to the surface with that first sentence. “Please Cal, I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go out there like this and yo--”

You’re cut off by Cal’s body contacting your firmly, arms curling around your body as he hugs you tight to his chest. And all of your worries and problems that you were ranting about seconds earlier fade away because his bare chest is right against the skin of your cheek and he’s so warm and smells so good and you’ve forgotten why you were--

“Breath. It’s okay.” He demonstrates with several deep breaths, chest rising and falling against your cheek. You hear the whoosh of air in his lungs, and you shakily try to imitate. You fail the first two times, your pounding heart and surging adrenaline forcing your breaths to come shallow and fast. But he stays close to you, radiating comfort and calm that soaks into you and gradually slows you down.

“You’re still not going out there on that leg.”

Cal shushes you, “I know. I need you to calm down before we get to Kashyyyk. I’m not going to leave until I know you’re okay, and those children still need saving.”

Annoyance sparks through you, “I told you not to put that on me.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. That was a cheap shot.” You wriggle to try and get out of his grip, but he only tightens his arms around you. “Stop fighting me.”

“Only if you stop fighting me.” Still, he’s too strong and you can’t deny that you’re exactly where you want to be.

“Oh I intend to. But I can’t stay forever. How long do you need me to rest?” His chin rests on the top of your head.

You hum thoughtfully, snuggling closer with your fingers drumming gently on his skin, “Bacta treatments optimize after five hours of immersion in the tissue.”

“I’ll give you two hours.”

“Three.” You counter. “I can accelerate the healing if you give me three hours.”

He hums deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin, “Deal.”

You stay like that for a few more minutes, peacefully breathing the filtered Mantis air that smells like antibiotic burn cream and metal. When you open your eyes, your gaze lands on the lightsaber, which has rolled into a corner since the hit and run on Ordo Eris.

“Cal.” Your voice is raspy from the lump in your throat. “The lightsaber.”

He hums, calling the handle to his hand with the Force, “Yeah. Should keep it safe.” He clips it to his belt with one hand, the other still crooked firmly to cradle you.

“Where did you get it?”

He pauses for a fraction of a second, then his arm returns to stroke the back of your head, “It was Master Tapal’s. The Purge. It’s all that I have left from before.”

“Your Master. Was he a Lasat?”

Cal chuckles, “Most intimidating one that I’ve ever met. Wisest one too, but he had a leg up on the competition, being a Jedi Master.” He pulls away slightly to catch your gaze. “How did you know that he was a Lasat?”

You hum, burrowing back into his chest, “I’ll explain later.” For now, the world would hold together.

Cal Taglist: @marvelassassin221b, @my-awakened-ghost

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #angst #fluff #jedi fallen order #my boyyy #who lacks any and all sense of self preservation

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renegade-skywalker · 4 years ago

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still living rent-free in my head at all times are Atton and the Jedi Exile...

---

It was strange being on a ship like this - small, cozy, meant for shipping cargo instead of armies. Eden's room on the Harbinger had been devoid of any home-like comforts, and while this hunk of junk lacked any finesse, something about the ship’s exposed parts grounded her, settling her nerves. She ran her hand along the vessel’s unfinished walls, almost tasting its metal tang in her mind, as she made her way back to the cockpit, comforted by its imperfections.

The ship was modest, boasting only two dormitories and a cramped common area that also shared square footage with the ship’s lone refresher. Something about it seemed familiar, lived-in, though Eden knew she had never been on a ship like this. It was as if she had seen it in a dream.

“How’s she doing?” Atton’s voice crept from the cockpit, sensing Eden’s presence as she approached. Eden smirked, wondering if her footfalls were really that heavy as she daydreamt.

“Surprisingly well for someone who just lost a hand,” Eden said as she entered the cockpit proper, watching her own left hand as she flexed it in and out of a fist. “Not like you’d care, though. Right?”

“Heh, true,” Atton mumbled, still fussing with the ship’s controls. “Of course the only space-worthy ship on that sorry ball of magma would be twenty years old, and rigged to boot. This thing is a relic, you know that?”

“What makes you say that?” Eden asked as she sidled up alongside the navigational chart, glowing white-green as it enticed her towards its map. The display was outdated, she had to give Atton that, but nearly everything she’d come into contact with on Tatooine in the last few years would have been considered ‘old’ by industry standards. “Rigged, I mean, not old. Old is obvious.”

Atton glanced at Eden over his shoulder, his eyebrows shooting up across his forehead, disappearing into his hair, as he allowed himself a brief moment of surprise. Eden smirked. She’d only known the guy a few standard hours and already she had developed a hobby of catching him off-guard.

“The commands, mostly,” he said eventually, turning back to the console, “Most ships have standard commands depending on the make, but this one seems to have been coded in a specific key. It’s not impossible to decipher but it’s annoying, to say the least.”

“Coded?”

“Common in drug-running, it’s a defense tactic of sorts. Instead of an alarm system to alert the authorities, it's meant to dissuade anyone from flying it at all by making it complicated. That, and it’s meant to reroute system logs so it’s harder for anyone snooping around to access the ship’s navigational history. Hey, while you’re over there, do you mind-?”

“On it,” Eden confirmed, already keying in a sequence. But the map before her only jolted, as if glitching momentarily. She tried again. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Atton affirmed, turning full in his chair this time. “Have you tried-?”

Eden typed in another sequence and looked at Atton again, shrugging more emphatically.

“Like I said, nothing.”

Atton slumped in his chair, looking at the screen from his vantage point, baffled. “Weird.”

Turning around again, Atton began typing furiously away at the pilot’s console, muttering to himself as he made quick calculations and tested other sequencing commands, inputting codes and apparently coming up empty judging by the unintelligible syllables that escaped his mouth in response.

“I thought you said it wasn’t weird for drug-running vessels to do that?”

“It isn’t, it’s just… the system would have given you an error code, or something. The fact that nothing happened is weird. We’ll have to try some back-end codes if we have any chance of unlocking the nav chart, but we can worry about that later. Or not at all, since I plan on taking the next transport off Telos as soon as we land. If that’s even an option.”

“You and me both,” Eden said, still playing with the galaxy map, marveling at the expanse of it all. It had been a while since she’d traveled, and longer since she considered how big the galaxy even was. “Any idea where you’d want to disappear?”

“Disappear?” Atton tensed at that, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he adjusted his ribbed jacket. Eden expected Atton would want to leave as many lightyears between him and whatever had landed him on Peragus as he could manage, but maybe there was more to the story.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said after a few beats, trying to act cavalier. “I have a few places in mind, though sharing them with you kind of defeats the purpose of vanishing without a trace.”

Atton glanced back at Eden, his eyes wide before he snapped his attention back to the console computer again, muttering, “No offense, or anything.”

Eden laughed lightly, the feeling almost alien given everything that had happened of late. Quickly quieting, she bit her lip and allowed herself a breath before picking up the conversation again, oddly at ease.

“None taken,” she said, “No witness, no crime, right?”

“Something like that,” Atton laughed, though a clear sense of uncertainty laced his voice. “Though I’d argue all three of us are just as guilty of blowing up the entire economy of this sector. I flew the ship, sure, but it was only to save all our skins.”

“I appreciate that,” Eden said, “Though I’d counter and say that Kreia’s assailant is to blame more than the three of us.”

“Hah, right. Try telling that to the Republic officers that eventually arrest us at the ends of the universe for the impending fuel crisis of the century.” At this Atton truly laughed, the weight of what had just happened finally sinking in. “Shit.”

“Well, it’s not the first time I was responsible for something that would affect the entire galaxy for decades to come,” Eden sighed, her finger lingering over the green dot the chart labeled Dxun - moon, quickly changing the subject before Atton could question whether she was being earnest or not. “So what do you think this ship was used for before we hijacked it?”

“Drug-running, I’m guessing, but I doubt Kreia had anything to do with that. Though I’m curious…”

“Curious about what?”

“How someone like her would acquire a ship like this.”

“I don’t think it’s that weird,” Eden shrugged as she finally abandoned the navigational chart and sunk into the co-pilot’s chair. “An old woman looking for any means of solo transport with little money? You see the way she dresses, I doubt she has a fortune at her disposal. I’m sure a spice runner with a price on their head would part with as few credits as they could spare if it meant an easy way to dispose of their crime-history-addled ship.”

Atton made a face at this, considering her logic, but did not tear his eyes away from the pilot’s console as he continued to type away.

“I guess the only thing I’m left wondering is whether Sleeps-With-Vibroblades was on her tail before or after this ship’s acquisition,” Atton laughed at his own joke. “So… what happened?”

Atton didn’t tear his eyes away from the screen but only gestured to her vaguely. Eden paused, looking down at herself, confused, and back up at Atton again.

“To what?”

Atton tsked.

“Don’t give me that. There were plenty of times back on Peragus where a lightsaber would have been helpful. So - where’s yours?”

Eden narrowed her eyes, shaking her head in utter confusion as she wondered how Atton went from how Kreia came in possession of this ship to… lightsabers. The fact that Atton couldn’t see her facial journey to better understand her bafflement didn’t help, either.

“Let’s leave my lightsaber out of this,” Eden sighed, “It’s a long story.”

“Oh? I thought a Jedi was supposed to be married to their lightsaber. Guess I heard wrong,” he quipped, acting coy.

Eden rolled her eyes.

“So, were you a single-hilt or one of those double-bladed Jedi?”

Now Eden knew that Atton wasn’t only preoccupying himself with the ship’s unique code language for the sake of deciphering it but was also using it as a means to avoid her gaze while he asked the usual questions other spacers did upon suspecting her affiliation with the Order. Typical.

“Double,” she answered dishonestly after a beat, watching Atton side-long for his reaction.

“Hm,” he said, unexcitingly, “I hear the twin blades are harder to master, but they can make enemies stampede over each other running for cover.”

Eden crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes now as she watched Atton do his best to appear nonchalant, truly annoyed with him now.

“You know quite a bit about Jedi for being so averse to them,” Eden accused, but Atton only snorted in response.

“I fought in the war, remember? It was hard not to notice,” Atton said, “I saw a lot of Jedi use double-bladed sabers first-hand, gave them more slaughter per swing.”

Eden winced, unhappy to have the memory revived in her mind’s eye at the mention of it.

“You didn’t go red, did you?”

Eden wanted to roll her eyes again, but instead she paused, a wicked smile taking over her face.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, doing her best to sound sincere. "Redder than a laigrek’s eye.”

Atton jolted out of whatever he was doing to avoid her gaze and actually jumped in his seat, and Eden couldn’t hold her serious expression long enough to relish in the longer con she’d planned the moment the words passed her lips.

“Maker, you’re pathetic,” she laughed, “What color saber do you think I had? I’m curious if you can guess correctly, Mr. ‘I Drink and I Know Things’”

Atton smiled unsurely, trying to appear in on the joke despite the fact that Eden had actually managed to startle him.

“Lemme see,” he said, affording her an honest glance after gathering his wits. Atton looked her up and down, assessing what he could of her upper half that was visible to him from the pilot’s chair with an expression of mock intrigue, an idle hand stroking his non-existent beard in thought. “I’d say green, but that might just be because your eyes are green, so I’m gonna nix that guess and say… blue. No - yellow.”

Eden only raised her eyebrows in response, crossing her arms even tighter over her chest.

“Purple? Violet? I dunno, those colors are the same, right?” Atton asked, shaking his head. “Are there… more colors? Sith are easy to guess, but Jedi--”

It’s was cerulean, she thought with an internal laugh, realizing the inanity of it. Neither blue nor green, but pale and somewhere in between. Single hilt but dual wielded. Both her long and her short sword were the same shade of pale seafoam, wanting to emulate Kavar’s blue saber, truest blue as the Guardian he was, but also green in honor of her brother and her then-Master, Atris, the only Master willing to teach her then, even if it was as an Historian, a role that wholly did not suit her.

“Wouldn’t you know? I thought you fought alongside the Jedi.”

Eden was calling him out now, but Atton only laughed, trying to buy himself time while he thought of another witty comeback, ultimately failing.

“Well, whatever color it was, sure would be nice to have it now. Might make those Sith think twice before coming after us.”

Eden shook her head, even if she understood where a spacer like Atton was coming from.

“A lightsaber wouldn’t make a difference, trust me,” Eden relented. “Sure it’s better than a blaster, but it would only put more of a target on our backs.”

Atton paused, really considering Eden now as he soaked in her words, perhaps surprised by her response.

“Fine, forget I said anything.” Atton turned away from her after a moment, shaking his head. “Better get comfortable, though. It’s a few days’ ride to Telos. We’re not out of this just yet.”

Eden nodded, turning the co-pilot’s seat all the way around to view the hallway behind her. Her eyes traced the piping on the walls as they led into the dark, where the passage turned slightly before opening up to the security room, wondering what Kreia was doing now in the dormitory she had claimed.

“No, we’re not,” Eden affirmed, her eyes still fixed on the shadow of the hall, but her mind far away, stuck somewhere between the past and present. She wondered what had become of her twin sabers, if either still remained. One, she’d left at Alek’s feet. The other she’d staked into the hideous statue at the center of the Coruscant Council chamber. “Not by a long shot.”

#atton x exile #kotor 2 #atton rand #the jedi exile #star wars #fan fic #my writing #as I finally approach this scene in out of the abyss I found myself just writing it before I even finished exploring peragus lmao #but peragus is a drag I think we can all agree on that

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years ago

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No-one will ever call this bluff

When Obi-Wan and Ventress fight Maul and his apprentice on Raydonia, a crate breaks open. Inside: an airborne poison. 6.6k | TCW Episode 4.22 Revenge AU | warning for serious illness

“Down!” Ventress shouts. “Down, Kenobi!”

Blindly, Obi-Wan throws himself to the floor and only then he rolls and risks a glance over his shoulder. The miss was far too near. Obi-Wan’s unexpected ally intervened just in time: the lumbering Sith almost managed to drive his lightsaber into his back. In the crate a foot’s width behind Obi-Wan there is a smoking hole at chest-height that could have spelled his doom, but now, with wide swings of her ‘saber, Ventress forces Savage Opress away and towards another one of the myriad crates stacked here in this nondescript cargo hold that Obi-Wan woke up, in after Maul and his new accessory Opress beat him up.

Her next swing connects, though unfortunately the small flesh wound in the Sith’s dominant left arm won’t disable him. It just spews out strange green miasma, even though the cut should have been cauterized. The following strike cleaves a massive hole into a durasteel crate, because Opress apparently learned how to duck just in time. Whoever packed this freighter was not beholden to Republic safety standards, it seems, because the whole crate, besides being completely unsecured to the wall, is just stuffed full of some fine white powder that now plumes out, dusting the crouching Sith all over with its fine particles.

A warning in the force, just in time again, and Obi-Wan jumps up and parries Darth Maul’s attack with Ventress’ second lightsaber.

Maul does not press his advantage. He throws a curt glance in the direction of his apprentice, disapproving and disappointed. Obi-Wan almost hopes for Ventress’ cry of victory, but then the flurry of movement at the edge of Obi-Wan’s field of vision reveals that the massive zabrak must have regained his footing and is locked in his battle with Asajj Ventress once more.

It’s their distinct advantage, Obi-Wan realizes: he and Asajj have fought side-by-side in their weird alliance before, but for all that Opress appears to be beholden to his fellow zabrak, they do not seem to fight together. Opress kicked Obi-Wan around at Darth Maul’s direction—strange, too, that he would eschew the force for fists—but they’re not fighting as one. Just next to each other. Unless Maul gives the other zabrak direct orders, and even then, they are less than a seasoned team. A few weeks ago, Opress was still Dooku’s lackey, and back then he was just as lousy of a team player. He does not seem to have improved just because his new Master shares his species. We’re outmatched, Obi-Wan just told Ventress, but perhaps…

Perhaps…

Obi-Wan does not want to flee. He came here to Raydonia—at least presumably that’s where they still are, he hasn’t heard any tattletale vibration of engines—he came to this obvious trap at the behest of a long-buried monster, but also: for a mountain of corpses. He saw them in the holo, and before Savage beat him up and dragged him in here, he smelt them. He’s had a regrettably thorough acquaintance with the stench of burning flesh since becoming a frontline General of the GAR, but still, he fancies the Raydonia massacre even more horrendous, more pungent, for what it represents. Civilians, children, monstrously slaughtered, and for what reason? Simply as the holo message to the temple said: to draw him out?

He does not want to flee—he came here alone despite all the signs that that’s what his enemy expected—because this is Darth Maul. The unfinished business he thought done and dusted years ago. The death that merited his promotion to Master. The murderer of the halcyon Jedi Master, his beloved teacher Qui-Gon; the harbinger of the end of eons of Jedi supremacy over the Sith; the enemy that Obi-Wan cut apart. Quickly he was distracted away from his nightmares back then because he needed to keep up with his new whirlwind padawan, but there was one moment he could not forget. Sai tok. Bisection. That confused painful grimace. The sheer brutality that Obi-Wan used to dispatch his assailant on Naboo seared itself into his mind, never mind that it was rightly deserved then and a few hours ago proved to be far better than Maul deserves… Never mind that the monster somehow survived his mutilation…

He does not want to flee. Darth Maul murdered these people to draw out Obi-Wan. If he escapes, there’s every reason to believe he’ll do it again.

Besides, Obi-Wan was but a padawan when he bested Maul. In the intervening decade he has taught, studied, followed the force. He has led the GAR into battle. He can turn this fight to his advantage, especially with Ventress by his side; regardless of Maul’s acquisition of Dooku’s castoff acolyte he can now do it right and aim for the neck. They just need to be smarter about it. One against one is fine, but if they take out the weak link together and then focus their combined might on Maul… It’s worth a try.

So Obi-Wan strikes at Opress whenever he gets in range, and he tries to get in range as often as possible.

Savage Opress, rudely, seems exclusively preoccupied by Ventress; even when Obi-Wan manages to wound his other shoulder he quickly focuses all his attention, his growls, his attacks back onto her. The two have a history, though: and not just under Dooku, it seems from Opress’ growl in the beginning. A Dathomir witch—she betrayed me, he said. Whatever that means. He apparently can’t let go enough of his past to realize that in this fight, Obi-Wan is at least as deadly a foe. Despite this fact or maybe because of it, it doesn’t take long before the gargantuan Sith starts faltering. His attacks miss by wider margins; his feet barely find stable ground. Once, when Obi-Wan comes close, he can see the sweat beading on the zabrak’s brow, the feverish tinge to his yellow skin. He’s fighting for breath. Maul, meanwhile, doesn’t seem at all aware of the predicament his apprentice is in. Maybe Obi-Wan’s attacks, designed to make him dodge as far back as possible, have managed to distract him, or maybe he just doesn’t care.

Ventress, however, throws him an amused smirk. She’s moving in a perfect complement, pincer-like, subtly helping cage in the lesser Sith towards the cockpit of the ship.

Slash, stab, slash, and then—

Opress trips. He trips, or it’s the coughing fit that suddenly wracks his massive frame—whatever the cause, he tumbles to the floor, barely keeping hold of his ignited double ‘saber. Barely keeping hold and barely not cutting himself up with the still-burning energy blades, missing his own arm by a hair’s breadth when he tries to shield his chest with his hands out of some strange useless instinct and then he hits the ground, back-first and uncushioned. The access pad of the cockpit blinks red just meters to the right of him, and his face answers, flushed unhealthily pink and sweat-slick.

“Gotcha.” Ventress raises her ‘saber—

A sudden whirlwind of naked tattoos and metal chicken legs, Maul parries her.

The sound is so quiet behind the whirr of the lightsabers that Obi-Wan almost thinks he hallucinated it, but why would he? No, that sounded like Opress, and it sounded like… “Didn’t let him free. Not allowed to take two mates. Not him too.” Gibberish, and he has no time to decipher it, curious as he may be as to the fatuous Sith’s motivations.

Darth Maul sets his hand down on Opress’ head to steady himself—Ventress’ strike must have been strong enough to unbalance him, or he chose the wrong footing in his rush—and then he wipes it against his own head: leaving a stripe of white powdered residue. He raises his lightsaber. He grins. “Two against one. That brings back some memories, does it not, Kenobi?”

“This time when I dismember you, I’ll remember you’re a cockroach,” Obi-Wan replies.

A dismissive shrug is all he receives in answer. “Feel free to join me when you’ve finished your midday nap, apprentice,” Maul throws over his shoulder, and then he starts feinting and stabbing tirelessly until both Ventress and Obi-Wan have retreated several tens of meters back across the cargo hold. He’s as acrobatic and cocksure as he was on Naboo back then, guarding the whole width of the cargo hold against both of them. Guarding. Yes, that is the word, Obi-Wan suddenly realizes. Flashy as they may be, his strikes are defensive in nature: designed to keep them occupied and retreating, but barring a gross mistake none would be the kind to wound. And yet, Darth Maul lured Obi-Wan here, presumably to murder him. You will suffer as I have suffered was the threat if he recalls correctly. This is not suffering. He’s abandoned his original aims, then. Opress’ sudden dizzy spell seems to have unsettled Maul.

Maul is far more hardy than his apprentice was, but even he has his limits—after what feels like an hour of Maul jabbing and both of them dodging, and Opress’ pleas to various family members (mother, brother, sister, brother again), his face is shining with sweat just as Savage Opress is, though with his red coloring there’s no way to see the red tinge that is probably present as well. Barely, he dances out of the way of Ventress’ strike before trying to drive her back again. It shouldn’t give Obi-Wan any pleasure to realize this—and it doesn’t—but the defeat on Naboo seems to have robbed Maul of much of his grace, his skill, even though it has only made him more bloodthirsty.

He won’t be able to wage this battle forever. Obi-Wan rejoices in his instincts, and in the force, that told him not to flee: even if Maul decides to give up on this battle now and manages to escape, his brutish companion hasn’t moved from his spot except to jab listlessly at the imaginary girlfriend he’s been whimpering to. He’ll be easy prey. Maul is the diseased brain, and taking him out would benefit the galaxy far more—but in a pinch Obi-Wan will settle for his new stooge.

He’ll—

The thin hairs on Obi-Wan’s arms raise with electric static, and then thunder shakes the cargo hold. The walls bob and drop like those of a capsule on a water planet in storm; more crates drop, releasing their miscellaneous contents, spreading mealpacks and hydrosacks and another burst of white powder and holopads and sundry more items all over the floor; and Ventress grabs Obi-Wan’s shoulder to steady both herself and him. Maul has no such luck, no such compatriot, and he keels over sideways.

There’s no breach on the hull of the cargo hold, at least, as far as Obi-Wan can make out. It sounded like a small laser cannon, the blast, but though it definitely hit—and who knew the impact in a landed ship would feel like this—it wasn’t strong enough to penetrate, or the ship’s defenses haven’t yet given out. That will probably change with a few more blasts, if whoever attacked them keeps up their assault. They’ve got another problem.

Ventress strides over to the window next to the loading bay, obviously preferring survival over a continuation of the fight, and Obi-Wan follows her. He keeps his eyes locked on Maul, though, who winces when he pushes himself up with his hands—should have taken a second to decapitate him, missed chance—and looks just as disquieted as Obi-Wan feels. Not one of his plans, then.

There are people outside the window. A few of them are pulling charred bodies off Maul’s victim pile, some are inspecting Obi-Wan’s ship—still there, luckily, though far enough he’ll have to run for a few minutes to reach it—and most of them are hauling around a small fighter ship using massive ropes. They’re shouting something that’s inaudible through the thick transparisteel pane of the window, but looks incredibly angry, and then Obi-Wan’s hairs raise again. He and Ventress grab for the cross bar behind them, and—shake.

“Villagers,” Ventress hisses.

“Quite.” Obi-Wan raises his voice. Wherever Darth Maul and his delirious lackey are right now, they’ll be able to hear him. “They have come to avenge their families murdered by a broken, unbalanced monster.”

“And kill us, too.”

“Now, I’m sure that once I tell them I’m a Jedi sent in to bring their murderer to justice they’ll—”

“Duck.”

Obi-Wan glances out of the window again, and outside, the people must have noticed them: they gesticulate wildly towards the window, and their towed ship’s laser cannon is pointed right at—

His knees ache. They’ve hit the floor hard, because Ventress has pulled him down with impressive force, and another boom shakes the freighter.

“What about the word ‘duck’ do you not understand?” Ventress gets up again and inspects the window, which hasn’t—yet—shattered. “I’m disappointed, Kenobi. I thought I’d taught you how to obey my commands.”

“My ship is out there, but we won’t make it that far.”

Ventress sighs. “Well aware. Our only way out is the freighter, and…”

Obi-Wan follows the direction of her eyes. Maul has made his way back to his apprentice. Back where the cockpit is. He must have reached the same conclusion. He’s whispering something inaudible and trying to pull the other zabrak onto his feet. Even with his chicken legs compensating for their height difference, though, he’s not strong enough, not when Opress isn’t cooperating at all. They’re only tens of meters away from the salvation of the cockpit door, a distance the sickened Sith apparently cannot crawl anymore and is too heavy to be dragged.

“Help me, brother, help me,” the big Sith moans weakly. He’s attempting to push Maul’s hands away, completely ineffectively, lightsaber forgotten. “I don’t want—please don’t—Sister don’t—”

Ventress looks over at him, an unreadable expression on her face, before she says, “If they get into the cockpit before us, we have a problem. But they’re both exhausted. As long as they don’t manage to close the door, we can make it.”

As soon as Obi-Wan and Ventress approach, though, Darth Maul drops his feverish apprentice with little care—Savage’s head hits the wall with a clang, though he has little brain to even lose from traumatic brain injury—and strides a few meters forward, lightsaber ignited. He looks more focused now after the break in battle, even if still sweat-drenched and trembling, and the barrage of laser strikes that hits the freighter doesn’t keel him over the way the first attack did.

“You have decided to return and die, then,” Maul says.

Ventress sneers. “You barely managed to hold the two of us back.”

Another volley of shots. The villagers are firing more and more often, and however well-armored this freighter may be, it won’t hold out forever. Every attack could be their end. With dawning dread, Obi-Wan realizes they might not even have timeto fight a newly revitalized Maul for the cockpit. And that means…

“In their drive for righteous vengeance against you, the Raydonians will kill us all if we stay here. And soon. You cannot get into the cockpit without giving us an opportunity to attack; we cannot defeat you fast enough. I therefore propose a temporary truce for our mutual survival.” The words are bile on his tongue, proposing a deal with a mass murderer to help him escape his victims, but needs must. Obi-Wan is a General of the GAR, and more battlefields than this one require his guidance. Maul is but a single washed-up revenant of a Sith, and he’ll find death sooner or later.

He takes a step towards the cockpit. Savage Opress shudders.

Ventress catches up to him, and Opress winces and curls into a ball.

“No,” Darth Maul says.

“If we do not take off soon, you’ll die!”

Opress, on the floor, uncurls and coughs. Flecks of something come out and hit the floor, red—blood. Instinctively, Obi-Wan moves closer.

The feverish Sith, mid-coughing fit, pushes himself up with trembling arms. Glowering, he forces out, “You won’t—” cough— “hurt him, now, I’ll—” cough, cough, cough, and more blood spraying towards Obi-Wan. There’s a visible sore on the zabrak’s shoulder from this vantage point, right where Ventress managed to injure him, massive and red and swollen with a necrotic black center. A clue towards his mysterious illness, if Maul’s irrational desire to let them all die before cooperating wasn’t far more pressing.

“My apprentice is right,” Maul says. He’s sweating profusely, probably feverish, and subtly bracing himself on an upended crate, but he’s probably no less lethal when cornered. “We do not trust you.”

“I give you my word as a Jedi Master.”

Maul’s eyes go crazed suddenly, wide and burning, as he howls, “Your word? Your word? I fought with honor. I could have booby-trapped that palace, and yet I did not. I fought honorably, two against one, and yet you would not even give me death, you—”

“I thought you’d died—”

“You gave me pain, pain, pain! For a decade I crawled in refuse and I fed on nothing but hatred for the Jedi who would not even grant his honorable enemy an honorable death!”

“I really thought you’d died,” Obi-Wan repeats weakly. “How was I to know you could survive a sai tok?”

“Here is what I think of your honor, Jedi.” Maul spits on the ground. Is it Obi-Wan’s imagination or is there blood speckled in…

Another blast hits the freighter. They’re running out of time.

“Ventress, then,” Obi-Wan offers. “She is of the dark side, just like you. I trust that’s more agreeable?”

She’s flushed red and sweating slightly, too—just what kind of contagious illness is this?—but she nods in Obi-Wan’s direction and stalks forward.

Again, Savage Opress starts whimpering as soon as he sees her face, and that’s Maul’s cue to block the path with his ignited lightsaber.

“What is it now?” Obi-Wan is the Negotiator, but even he can be forgiven for his lapse in tone now, as he tries to convince an obviously insane murderer to choose his own survival—and that of his apprentice, too. His apprentice… Perhaps… But no, Maul has never shown care for a living being beside himself, so appealing for the preservation of his fellow zabrak would be pointless. There must be a better argument. If only he knew… “What do you have against Ventress? She may have chosen to help me this time, but I promise you, we are at best friendly enemies.”

“My apprentice is afraid of her. I am more inclined to trust his judgment than yours,” Maul says, as if the shudders of a delusional feverish oaf of a Sith was enough reason to condemn them all to death by village mob. Without more information, this is a knot impossible to untangle.

“Ventress, do you—”

“Leave it.”

“—do you know why Savage Opress is scared?”

There is no answer. Asajj Ventress strides back towards the cargo bay.

Maul has retreated to his apprentice, perhaps having decided that Obi-Wan currently won’t instigate a fight. He’s squatting in front of him on his ludicrous chicken legs, a critical eye turned back over his shoulder on the other zabrak. “You’re burning up,” he says quietly. Obi-Wan is barely close enough still to hear him. “And as for the violent coughs… the armor is not helping.”

Savage swallows and shudders and presses his hands to his covered belly.

“You are of no use to me dead.”

No answer. The other Sith coughs out blood and then curls up again, the very picture of misery.

“I shall keep them away from you.”

“From you,” Savage rasps. “Keep them from… I am—” cough— “already lost. They must not hurt you.”

“If you die, you are of no use to me,” Maul repeats. His lip curls, though it’s impossible to tell whether from impatience or cruelty or worry. “You promised to protect me. How will you do that, apprentice, if you are dead?”

It seems to have worked. The word ‘protect’—a revelation Obi-Wan should perhaps have seen coming, but who would expect anyone to look at Darth Maul and see a creature worth protecting, a person in needof protection?—it rouses Opress into a weak kneeling position. He paws at the right shoulder pad of his armor, again and again, but…

“No-one told you how to take it off.” Maul’s voice is entirely flat, and Obi-Wan’s almost offended by his lack of shock. Who—how—why would someone wear an armor they could not remove? “Be still, then, apprentice.”

He raises his lightsaber and cuts, carefully—pausing twice just before a coughing fit wracks Savage’s frame—first through one shoulder pad and then the next, and the pauldron too. The undershirt beneath is dotted with burnt holes, and Darth Maul pulls it away from his apprentice’s body and cuts it as well. Opress is heavily scarred, shiny burn scars all over his shoulders and torso beneath the armor, and a massive overlay of lichtenberg figures down his back—but beside the lesion of the infected wound on his shoulder from Ventress’ attack which has engulfed his whole arm now, they’re all healed enough to be at least a few weeks old. Maul directs him to pull off his boots, too, but allows him to keep his skirt.

“This armor was useless against anything but blasters, anyway,” Maul says. “And it’s obvious that you are not used to moving with its weight. Whoever gave it to you did not act in the interest of—”

“Don’t let me interrupt, boys.” Ventress smirks as Maul’s head whips up. The Sith looks panicked and strangely guilty. “But the mob outside has found another ship with a bigger cannon. We should probably get going.”

Savage’s head clanks against the floor again, Maul’s uncharacteristic tenderness forgotten as soon as he remembers his audience. Lightsaber raised in a defensive position, Maul repeats, “No.”

“Ventress can take the ship, and I’ll stay here as collateral—she won’t decouple the cockpit.”

“No.”

“You really want to die here?”

Maul turns his face away. His arm is trembling.

You cannot imagine the depths I would go to to stay alive, he said when he attacked Obi-Wan. And the depths he’ll go to to kill Obi-Wan, apparently, including mulishly waiting for his own death, and the miserable demise of his own apprentice as well.

“Savage is sick,” Obi-Wan tries. The guarding, the careful removal of his armor—the relationship has to count for something. Even Darth Maul would not sink as low. “He needs medical care. By your stubborn refusal, you condemn him to death. Your apprentice will die here.”

Maul’s eyes are pools of fire and darkness. Vicious and dead. His voice is flat, empty, when he says, “There is no mercy for the weak. No mercy. There never was.”

Laser blasts shake the freighter again, and all Obi-Wan’s negotiation attempts have come to nothing. Trapped with a madman. He’ll just let all of them die, and for what? Stubborn Sith suspicion? If he will not yield, then… Desperately, he suggests, “Take the cockpit yourself, then. You do not trust either of us, but I am prepared to stake mine and her lives on your—on your honor. You insist you fight with honor. Prove it. We need to take off, or we all die.”

Down on the floor, Opress mumbles something that almost sounds like assent. He’s always looked vacuous and inexpressive to Obi-Wan, barely reacting to what should have been pain or mortal danger, but whether it’s the infection or the situation—he’s grabbed onto the ruined pauldron and tries to shield his bare torso. He’s swallowing, painfully, but he cannot force down his expression of sheer unadulterated dread.

There’s something more going on, something far beyond anything Obi-Wan could have suspected when he chose to come to Raydonia. This fear… Opress appears convinced that despite the laser cannons barraging their shelter, despite the mysterious onset of his brutal illness, it’s Obi-Wan and Ventress who pose a danger beyond his wildest nightmares. And Darth Maul…

“No,” Maul says. “I will not leave him for you to swallow his mind and carve up his body.”

It’s madness.

Mystifying. Hopeless. Madness.

Obi-Wan kicks one of the scattered meal packs on his way back to the cargo bay for another, probably fruitless, check on his own cruiser. Ventress stays behind, coughing softly. It’s no use escaping, though, just as Obi-Wan predicted—the sky is dark and the mob of villagers have probably mostly gone to sleep, but they’ve posted guards at the doors of the freighter and there’s no question they’ll spot Obi-Wan on his run, and if Ventress starts succumbing more deeply to the mysterious illness too… she won’t make it, and duty to the galaxy and the Republic would demand he leave anyway to rejoin his place at the GAR’s helm, but she came here to rescue him. He might have died at Maul’s hands—the sickness might not have broken out at all—if she hadn’t come. Whatever Maul thinks happened on Naboo, Obi-Wan knows honor. He won’t leave her behind.

He meanders back slowly, wracking his mind for any possible course of action, and suddenly his boot kicks up white dust. The crate! That innocuous crate that broke open, and unleashed its mysterious ills. He probably shouldn’t touch anything or even breathe here—but then he’s weathered this infection much better thus far than either of the zabraks or Ventress, he’s feeling as fine physically as he ever did after a drag-out ‘saberfight, and perhaps a clue as to the cause of the malady or a possible cure would give him leverage over Darth Maul. If it doesn’t, well… if he can’t find a way to the cockpit, he’ll get blown apart or dragged out by the angry mob he came here to avenge. He’ll die anyway.

There’s nothing at all helpful about the crate, though. It doesn’t even have a Caution! Do Not Break! marking or a biohazard or toxic warning. No, only an impressed and dirt-crusted set of numbers that may well have been there since the crate’s manufacture, and a mysterious stencil proclaiming the vendor one S.I. Rosenfeld. A custom-exemption stamp for Iridonia. The powder itself smells of nothing. It tastes of—well, whatever it tastes of, even in this desperation Obi-Wan refuses to put it in his mouth.

Hunt for clues abandoned, he instead carries back four hydrosacks.

A token of goodwill, at least. Obi-Wan himself is parched after the battle, and with how feverish Ventress and Darth Maul look, not to mention delirious Savage Opress… it’s worth an attempt, at the very least. But whereas Ventress takes her water gratefully, Maul only stares at the sacks that Obi-Wan kicks his way, even after Obi-Wan demonstratively drinks from his own. When Opress blindly reaches for one of the hydrosacks, one of Darth Maul’s chicken claws forces his hand back down.

Back to the standoff, then. Ventress periodically dis- and reappears with new sacks of water. Obi-Wan meditates. Darth Maul, meanwhile, paces in front of his sick partner, waiting for…

Whatever he is waiting for, it doesn’t come.

“You’re growing weaker, apprentice.” There’s no inflection in Maul’s voice now, nothing like the unhinged raving he directed at Obi-Wan earlier, and yet… “The dark side will give you the strength to survive. It is the only path.”

He reaches towards the other zabrak’s face, not the top of his head the way he braced himself up before but cupping one of his cheeks: a tenderness that hours before, Obi-Wan would not have thought possible.

Opress cringes away. He’s more lucid now, at least, but his breath is shallow and wheezing. “Brother,” he begs. “I would not… survive the lightning now. I can’t. I never could.”

A flinch answers him, tiny, almost invisible if Obi-Wan had not been watching the revenant nightmare for hours now, and then Maul whispers, “There is no lightning.”

“Master Dooku said—"

“Dooku was a liar and a fraud. He is a Jedi pretender, not a true Sith as we are, apprentice. In his refusal to credit you with interiority he overlooked the suffering he could have utilized, and so he had to cheat. The genuine test of the dark is that which already lies within, I have learnt.” Maul’s bright yellow eyes gleam over at Obi-Wan. He pauses. Considering, perhaps, what he should reveal before his audience.

Obi-Wan crosses his arms, extinguished lightsaber still at the ready. He won’t turn away. For now, though, he won’t interrupt either—something tells him to pause, though when he reaches to the force for guidance, all he feels is the cold and the unfathomable deep.

Opess moans in pain again.

Whatever misgivings Maul might have had, the sound wipes them away. “You’re in agony now, aren’t you?” he murmurs, an alien gleam in his rich genteel voice. “You feel the infection take hold of you more with every passing beat of your hearts. The fever, the ache. You can hardly breathe. It has colonized all of your vital systems. You are your body, and your body is pain. One careless moment, and he caught you, and now nothing exists but agony and dread and terrible thirst. Feel it. Sink into it. Luxuriate in your misery.”

Savage Opress, blood dribbling from his mouth onto his brother’s thumb, closes his fever-bright eyes.

“I have felt this, and yet I survived. You’re terrified, and in mourning for the life they stole from you. That he… that she—” and he looks up at Ventress—“that she stole. You hate her for the brother she took, for the mind she enslaved, for the involuntary shudder of your body whenever you recall her touch. That is enough, apprentice. That is enough for the dark. You know it is worse than any lightning that amateur could throw at you. Terror, pain, betrayal and loss and burning rage… Peace is a lie. There is only passion. Through passion I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory. Through victory my chains are broken. The force shall free me. Repeat these words, as I did in the putrid chasm. They are a mantra gliding through your fingers while you feel.”

More hacking coughs, and in-between, the movement of lips. Obi-Wan should interrupt this—this venal induction into the dark side of the force, and yet… Opress fell already, and he is almost dead now.

The force pushes in through every orifice, every pore, pushes and pushes, a static pressure unlike anything he’s ever felt from the light. There is no sound but Maul’s voice and the bloody gasps for air, and even if a cannon hit the freighter right now, it would not penetrate air that is suddenly as thick as ocean floor water.

“You feel,” Maul encourages. “You feel. You will not die here in front of this woman who enslaved you, who forced you to murder your own brother. You will not. You hate her, don’t you? You are not allowed to hate her because she owns you, but you do. You hate her every look. Every unwanted touch. Every breath she takes, and every second she could try to kill the only brother you have left…”

In shock, Obi-Wan tries to meet Ventress’ eyes—he knew she was of the dark, but this cannot be truth—but she’s hardly better off than the yellow zabrak, fever-flushed and coughing on her own in the shadow of an unopened crate.

Maul is almost in a trance now, purring, as if there was no-one present but him and his apprentice and the sudden icy waves in the enclosed cargo hold, “She might impel you to kill me with your bare hands. You hate her.”

You cannot imagine the depths I would go to to stay alive, Maul ranted. Fueled by my singular hatred for you.

Are these the depths?

Is this how he managed to survive Naboo?

“You hate her, and you hate yourself—because you were weak enough to let it happen. You will not be weak now. You are Sith, apprentice. You are not weak. You will not submit to another nightsister. You will not kneel before another Dooku. Whatever it takes to gain power, you will do. However vile you need to become, you will. You do not belong to her. You do not belong to your sickness. You belong to the force, and it will devour your agony and your dread and your fever. It will devour you,” and Darth Maul bites the solid air with his rotten teeth.

“But you are strong. And you will wrest that which eats you into yourself and sink your teeth into its frozen innards. Feast on the force, apprentice. Feast on the force, and feed it pain and terror, and it will keep you alive until it grows fat on the misery of the entire galaxy.”

Opress lies still. Quiet. His bare torso is exposed to air so cold Obi-Wan expects to see hoarfrost cover every surface, but he does not cough, does not bleed. He does not fight against Maul’s hand, one bracing the back of his head and the other against his cheek still—

Against his cheek, and then digging in with pungent anger that bleeds into the force like the blood welling under Maul’s fingernails.

The sudden pressure spike threatens to implode Obi-Wan’s eyeballs. With his fingers massaging his closed lids and through eardrums thickly waterlogged, he hears Maul hiss, “Surely you did not expect to leave your path this quickly, apprentice? Mother Talzin sent you after me, but you followed me off Dathomir, and in that moment, you were mine. You left your brother behind and dead on the ground but you will not abandon me.”

A soft keen is all that answers his tirade at first, and then follows a river of anguished moans and scuffling on the ground and the pitter of—of blood, scratching, mangling. Obi-Wan startles and only when he trips over a clattering something in the pitch dark does he realize he just tried to protect Opress—protect Savage Opress!—from Darth Maul. The Sith is beyond mindless now, howling as he did when he blamed Obi-Wan for all his ills, all traces of the strange tenderness forgotten, and yet—Obi-Wan pauses. This is desperation. This is grief.

As cruel and insane as his words are; as blasphemous as the dark powers he is beseeching—this is not a monster.

This is the pure madness of attachment.

“You swore you would never betray me,” Maul wails in the deep and frozen dark of a trashed freight ship. “Did you trick me, brother? Was this your play? To pretend at kindness when I was weak so I would unlearn the most elementary of lessons? And I did.”

An answering gurgle that sounds like brother, no.

“You are leaving—”

Another barrage of wheezes—

“—but if you are still even capable of loyalty after you murdered your brother… I trusted you.” Maul’s eyes gleam in the pitch dark, not plain Sith yellow but—wet. They beckon, call, howl; they are the last thing that seems to exist. “I trusted you. You called yourself my brother. I trusted you. I learned to despise the world, and yet, somehow, I trusted…”

The wails lose all coherence after that. In the primordial calm of the freezing cargo hold, Obi-Wan holds his breath, for any sign of Savage’s life, for another gambit, another invocation of the dark force, for anything at all.

The pressure plummets as quickly as it appeared. A far too quick resurfacing, and it dizzies Obi-Wan, but Maul… Maul sinks down onto the floor softly, his chicken legs collapsing in a way even chicken legs shouldn’t, still holding onto Savage and clutching his brother’s head like a doll against his chest. The handle of the ‘saber clatters from the fist he presses against Savage’s back. The red Sith is not sweating anymore, but the ordeal seems to have exhausted him: he blinks his lighthouse eyes open, and open, and open, and then he doesn’t.

Obi-Wan drops to the floor. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for now. For the true horror of the Sith power that he just witnessed to reveal itself? The pressure and the gloom are all but gone now, and even the unnatural icy wind is beginning to dissipate. And yet, this cannot be the end. If this was the dark side of the force, it is far beyond anything he felt in his deepest meditations, and it shouldn’t just… go back to sleep.

Or maybe, he’s waiting for Maul to rise up and attack him? But the Sith looks more peaceful than he ever did, wrapped tight around his—brother, his brother, whom he somehow cares for and mourns.

Or—he’s waiting for Obi-Wan himself, who came to finally kill the Sith?

That is his task, and his duty to the galaxy and the Jedi and to Raydonia, to Qui-Gon, but after this moment… it feels profane, impossible, to kill Maul who is vulnerable now because he chose to beg for his brother’s life. The monster displayed a tenderness, a humanity that Obi-Wan would never have thought him capable of, and though it is deeply irrational, Obi-Wan walks past the spot where unmoving Sith cling to each other and into the cockpit.

He pilots the freighter to the nearest planet with an advanced toxicology medcenter.

He carries Asajj Ventress inside, paler than she has ever been and gone passive with bloodloss. Regardless of what he might have learned—and he is still not sure what to make of the fragments whispered by a lying Sith—she came to his rescue, and silently he prays that the force does not will her death. He is quarantined as well, despite his pleas—there are Sith, night-dead but Sith, up on the rooftop landing bay, and if they won’t call the Jedi Order to dispatch them they should know (and he pauses, but he just can’t) they should know the Sith are also grievously ill—and he gives the healers all the clues he picked up, the symptoms and the white powder and the name on the unprepossessing crate, and they give him nothing in return. No information on Ventress’ status (she will cross his path in a few months, and she will not answer his questions) and no audience with the Iridonian in ambassadorial robes frowning through the durasteel window of his isolation room, and no heads up on the squad of anti-bioterrorism police droids they sent to the freighter.

No warning that the ship has disappeared.

That, he finds out from Master Windu who retrieves him from his quarantine cell after two days of manic pacing.

Maul, at the very least, must have survived, and Obi-Wan could have killed him when he passed out cradling his brother. Maul has survived, and taken the ship and its murderous infective powder away with him. Maul has survived, and Obi-Wan will bear the weight of every person he kills hereafter. Will bear the pressure and the dread and the pleading in his ears.

Savage Opress is still by Darth Maul’s side when they attack Florrum and murders Master Adi Gallia, and Obi-Wan can’t catalogue the emotion he feels.

#darth maul #savage opress #savage oppress #obi-wan kenobi #asajj ventress #dimtraces makes things

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years ago

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀᴅ

“Anakin knew he had to set her free, this beautiful Sith of a woman.”

word count: 2731

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

jer·e·mi·ad/ˌjerəˈmīəd/ jeremiad

a long, mournful complaint or lamentation; a list of woes."the jeremiads of puritan preachers warning of moral decay"

Anakin couldn’t remember when he first started loving you. He only knew that he had seen you at some point, and at some point became so infatuated, he kept an eye out for you at every turn. If you happened to be passing by while he was speaking to Obi-Wan, Anakin’s eyes were trained on you. If you fought together in battle, he would look to see you on the other side. Curiously enough, when he would get glimpses of you, you were always twirling your lightsaber after a kill.

Anakin felt an enormous amount of guilt about this. He had been entangled with Padme for some time now, and had even married her after the Battle of Geonosis. He would’ve been foolish not to. Padme was beautiful and kind and diligent, and she would sometimes appear to Anakin in dreams like an angel. He felt an enormous wave of relief wash over him when he would meet his wife at the end of a long mission.

But he didn’t love her. Not really. He loved you. He wanted to be with you, to snake his hands around your waist in the night. He always made an attempt to spar with you in the temple, or ask about any mission you might’ve been on. Anakin felt like a magnet around you, even though you hadn’t shown much of a mutual pattern in return. Anakin didn’t mind that much though- you were a busy person, he understood. If anything, it only made his desire for you stronger. A woman of few words, Anakin only further imagined what your moans would sound like in place.

Eventually, however, you were gone.

As clear and distant as the rising sun, and as quiet and hushed as the moon, you disappeared from the temple and the Jedi alike. There were no more glances to steal at you, no more glimpses of your elegant training to behold. The corner of the archives Anakin often saw you in now seemed empty and incomplete with your form. Even the Jedi council seemed like it was missing something, even though you had refused to be a part of it some years before.

There were whispers, but none that Anakin ever got the opportunity to fully hear. Part of him knew that if he did hear them, he probably wouldn’t have accepted them. In truth, he refused to think that you were even dead, even though it was the far more likely answer to his questions. Anakin believed that you had suffered from some injury in your endeavors and had most likely become immobilized, instead. He didn’t want to know the truth.

But did he have some semblance of it? Yes. He was the most powerful, in tune Jedi in the galaxy- he would’ve felt what had happened to you. He just refused to believe it.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Sometimes, you would appear in Anakin’s dreams.

Your two blue lightsabers would be at the ready in your cunning hands. Your most trusted trooper- Commander Nyx- would be at your side, awaiting instructions. Your dark Jedi robes would stand in contrast to the scene ahead of you, which consisted of crystalline buildings falling and gunships falling with green streaks.

In dreams, Anakin would suddenly get confidence he could never muster in real life. He didn’t know it, but this was out of desperation. He wanted so badly to see you, to feel you if he could, that he wouldn’t mind risking how he appeared to you anymore. He just wanted you to turn around and face him.

Tentatively, Anakin’s gloved, mechanical fingers would reach out to you. “Y/N?” he’d call out. You would give no reply. Your robes would stay swaying slowly in the wind, offering only a view of your back. Not even Commander Nyx would answer Anakin’s prayer of a whisper. But when the sky of the scene would darken when he drew closer to you, he had received a sort of response. Anakin didn’t care enough to acknowledge it. “Y/N...”

This prompted you to turn to him. Like poetry, he caught your eyes. Even in sleep, he still felt weak and woozy in his stomach (in the best way, of course) and he couldn’t help but get lost in your orbs like a maze.

You were still just as beautiful as he remembered, but different. Something was oozing, sinking, blackening your veins like tar and poison. Anakin could see this in the way you held your sabers. He wasn’t sure how, but your fingers seemed more hungry. Your lips were chapped and slightly paler, but no less attractive than he’d always thought. Jaw sharp, skin glowing faintly- your eyes were the main piece. They were so much brighter and more intelligent than he’d thought, although not in a good way.

You were always a powerful Jedi, and this was common knowledge. You had specialized in the seventh and most deadly form of combat, taken your time to study ancient texts, and had gone head to head with several enemy forces during the War. Anakin could even recall a report of you surviving an encounter with General Grievous and emerging unscathed. But this was different. This was pure and untamed energy, an ultimate corruption as sweet as fine wine.

In this dream, Anakin was too stunned to say anything. He could only stare in a mix of awe and disbelief. You, however, did not take too long to react. Your hand shoots out. Anakin trips forward, gasping at his own throat as he watches your lightsaber come closer and closer to him.

And then he wakes up.

◇─◇��─◇─────◇──◇─◇

The day of Kamino’s attack takes everyone by surprise. It had already happened recently, and nobody had fathomed the possibility of the Separatists forming such a similar attack so soon. Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and trusted Captain Rex all rushed to the scene in a gunship, with anxiety drumming in their hearts.

Anakin’s hand tightened around the rope above. His grip became a hot, white, vice as he stared at the crashing waves below. The storm overhead was unending and surreal, but it did nothing to calm the warning in his heart.

He hadn’t dreamed about you in a month by this point. He thought about you often, however. Even more so when he was laying by Padme who had her hand placed directly over his heart. He wondered if you were still out there in the galaxy, fighting monsters and exercising a patience he could only imagine. On good days, he could trick himself into believing that you were taking a long term holiday on some distant world.

But now, it didn’t feel like you were on a distant world. It felt like you were on this one. You felt so impossibly close. Like the universe was shrinking up around the two of you and making his chest feel closed up.

“Are you alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan spoke out. His free hand came to rest on Anakin’s shoulder comfortingly, like he was about to pull Anakin out of something.

“Yes Master,” Anakin promised in return, even though it was a blatant lie. Still, he managed to keep his voice steady, and that had impressed him enough. “I just worry what Commander Nyx will tell us when we meet him.”

Anakin knew Obi-Wan was unconvinced. He could feel it in the air and see it in the older man’s eyes. Regardless, Obi-Wan removed his palm from Anakin’s form and opened his mouth to spit the normal analytical nonsense. “Nyx and his men are already inside the main structure. They’re searching for our intruder while clearing a way.”

“I thought you said Grievous had already been seen,” Ahsoka questioned.

“I did,” said Obi-Wan. “But that does nothing to help confirmed reports of a second party present.”

Anakin squinted at the water. Determination filled him up like it always did before a battle, but there was also an unquenchable need to make sure you weren’t this ‘second party’. He knew it would’ve been ridiculous to even consider that possibility- you were off on holiday! But something inside of him just wanted see it. It was probably just that witch, Ventress again. She did have the hobby of inconveniencing Anakin’s life more than you ever had.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Anakin was wrong.

He rounded the corner with his lightsaber in his hand. His breathing came out evenly, just as he had trained it to do. Raising his right wrist to his mouth, he said the magic words. “Obi-Wan, I’m locking in on the targets location. No signs of Nyx anywhere.”

After a high pitched beep, blaster fire could be heard in the background of Obi-Wan’s scene. “Be ready, Anakin.”

With that, Anakin doubled down his speed and spurred himself forward. His brown eyebrows furrowed together, his fingers clutching the hilt of his weapon selfishly. There were people counting on him- the Clones and snips and Obi-Wan, even Padme. But more than anyone, he felt that you were counting on him. He just wanted to silence the anguish he was feeling. It was eating him alive.

Anakin stumbled into a dark, circular room. It was empty, except for the bodies in white armor that littered the floor. He could sense other things too- two presences in the middle. He didn’t need to be so gifted in the ways of the force to know that, though. He could hear the little whimpers from the center in a voice he had heard thousands of times. It was identical to that of Rex and Cody and Bly, and that scared him somewhat.

“Y-you can’t!” the voice pleaded. Anakin would’ve surged forward and saved the clone, if not for the silencing of him all together. With the swiftest of movements, the figure pulled both of their arms to their sides, and something heavy dropped to the floor. The Crimson color of the blades answered a few of the Jedi’s questions. The face of the mystery killer, however, created more.

It was you, in all of your glory. Your eyes piercing and calm, your features were striking. You, as always, were immensely beautiful to Anakin. You were like something that he would never see again if he looked away, and the fact that it was all too true was saddening. Although your skin had paled somewhat, you were entirely recognizable. The thing that had changed the most about you was your lightsabers, which had of course transitioned from pale blue to blood red.

Anakin’s eyes widened as he looked at you. You. What kind of sick, twisted joke was the Maker bestowing upon him? This was the thing he had wished against more than anything else. It was terrible enough imagining himself fighting Obi-Wan, but this wasn’t Obi-Wan. This was the woman he had watched from afar, silently admiring and memorizing. And now the woman was a Sith- the thing he had sworn to fight against.

“Master Skywalker,” you said coolly. You twirled one of the sabers in your palms just as Obi-Wan and other Jedi had done to loosen up their grips. It felt distant. “I had hoped you’d be the one to execute me.”

Anakin swallowed, but it didn’t help the feeling in his throat. “Y/N?” he asked hoarsely, almost like a beg. He wished so badly that you were Ventress, or even Count Dooku for that matter.

You didn’t give him a straight answer, you were never known for that. “If you want me to be.” You looked the man up and down, taking him in. You could recall seeing him around the temple, fighting along side him. You couldn’t place any real conversations or formal meetings, although you would be damned before letting yourself forget the name Anakin Skywalker. He always had been the most fascinating specimen. “Shall we fight, then?”

You poised yourselves on your toes. Your prey could never see when you did this, which gave you the element of surprise in combat. You knew that you were better than many of the Jedi in the Order. You had bested Luminara Unduli on multiple occasions, along with that Kenobi and Kit Fisto. You were never one to flash this, however, instead choosing to mask your growing contempt further and further. But Anakin Skywalker was not any of those Jedi. He was the most powerful force user alive. You were not entirely sure you could beat him.

“What are you doing here?” Anakin asked. His question partially caught you off guard, but you were polite.

“I’d like to think that defeats the point,” you quipped.

Anakin opens and closes his mouth multiple times. Like a glitch, he can’t seem to find or form the words. “We- you were a peacekeeper! And now look at you!”

Your eyes narrowed at him. Anakin noticed this, but you were too much of a demanding sight to ruin his current view of you. He didn’t want to fight you. What if he killed you? What if you killed him?

“Look at yourself,” you challenged. Anakin’s heart broke in his chest. You could see his eyes widen, and immediately a pang ran through you. It was the most of any emotion you had felt in a while- years, maybe. You didn’t know what it was, because it seemed to be a mix of guilt and anguish and longing.

Slowly, like a scared child, Anakin presses the switch on his emitter and takes his fighting stance. His blue streak of light roars to life softly. The shade reminds you of your own weapons, before you had made them bleed and turned them red. The shade reminds you of many other things, however, like Anakin’s brilliant eyes and all the neon planets you had traveled to.

Anakin doesn’t want to fight you. He doesn’t know if you can tell, because your demeanor is just as cold as always. His insides feel unnecessarily hot, and the hair on his arms stand on end with electricity. He’s only felt this way when he’s becoming intimate with Padme, but never like this. This is unsettling, uncomfortable, and he would even dare to describe it as traumatic.

“I’d always hoped you’d be the one to come here,” you said. In that moment, Anakin jabbed his blade forward cleanly. The sky blue glow extended across the room, even shadowing itself onto your face and created purple against the red. You positioned yourself back on instinct, waiting for the weapon to enter through your chest cleanly.

But it didn’t.

Anakin tried to keep his face stern and angry, but he couldn’t. It kept falling short and returning to one of heartbreak. This made your eyes features fall. Anakin wasn’t going to kill you, and you weren’t going to kill him. You had never wanted to.

“I have to take you into...” Anakin’s breath fell short. You had the opportunity to kill him right then, and you were doing nothing. How incredibly foolish of you.

You pressed the switch on your blades. Both of them came to a close, leaving both of you drowned in the blue light and the blue light only. There was no competition anymore. You truly weren’t going to kill Anakin.

Anakin lowered his own weapon as he looked at your face. You looked so much softer now. He memorized everything he could about you again, like he was seeing you for the first time, whenever that may have been.

You took a single step backwards. Anakin did nothing. Another step followed. You had been ordered to kill both Anakin and Kenobi, should you stumble across them. Instead, you would cover for the man. You would tell Dooku and the other Separatists you had not encountered Skywalker.

Similarly, Anakin did not follow you in your steps. He did not chase you as you turned and left the room. He only watched your form, wondering if he was truly going to let you go again. The answer, of course, was that he would. He would tell Obi-Wan he had no conception of this hidden enemy, and that by the time he had located Commander Nyx’s squad, they had already been dead.

Still, the both of you dissipated into your respective nights, knowing your debt was settled, and wondering if it would ever return.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo

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o-wise-corvid · 4 years ago

Text

It’s been a slow week but here’s Chapter Four. It’s a bit slow too but it’s the point where the babies are getting ready to leave Papa Cody’s little nest. Hope y’all like.

Warnings: nothing really? Mentions of someone getting shot/ potential killing of someone if they tried to hurt one of the kids (but like... that’s any parent, really)

People who were wanting more: @captainrexisboo @clonetrooperrights @koskareevesismyqueen @gospelofme @jgvfhl @ct-27-fives @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life

Chapter 4: Take Up Your Blade

“And that’s when Kali and Shriek took him down.” Rex grinned, the pride on his bruised face evident. “Rend’s still in the other medbay raving like a lunatic. Also, he took two live blaster bolts, so he’ll be down for a while anyway.”

Gaia smiled, her split lip pulling a little where it had scabbed over. “Papa shouldn’t have done that.”

“He was well within reason,” Rex defended, eyes growing dark. “Rend was gonna kill you. You’re Sunshine’s Squad Leader. He couldn’t just let that happen. Not in a training op.”

“It could raise suspicion about his feelings for us,” she explained, shifting a little at a catch in her side.

Rex’s expression turned worried and he started to move but then it was his turn to make a pained noise. His left arm rested in a sling; Coris had fractured his forearm during the fight.

“You should’ve heard the chewing out he gave to the lieutenant who had gotten the sim ready. No countermeasures against the use of the Force, no bacta-pack caches. No plan to prevent an incident exactly like the one that happened.” He sighed, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Rend somehow rigged the whole thing. He didn’t count on us knocking him out immediately.”

Gaia settled back into her pillow, feeling tired but also worried. Papa loved them all in a way that was strong, like a tight hug, and she knew how she had felt seeing him injured or hurt before. But her love for him was that of a child to their father. What would it be like to love a child? To feel responsible for what happened to them and then watch them be beaten bloody on a battlefield?

Rex continued, absently staring at Gaia’s knees as he brought up his memories. “When the lieutenant tried to disqualify Shriek and Kali for using the Force to defend themselves, Buir told him he’d have his rank for nearly killing the best soldiers in the Imperial Army and for forcing them to break the rules if they wanted to stay alive. But... way less polite. Like I thought he was going to strangle the poor guy.”

“But he didn’t. That’s... that’s good.”

Rex nodded. “Yeah. He’s been really busy while you were out. Barely comes back to the barracks to sleep. Said he’s working on something. He looks... older.”

Gaia just nodded, not sure what else to say. Rex read the heavy droop of her eyelids and smiled, standing up from the chair he’d pulled over when he’d arrived. “Get some sleep, vod.” They smiled at each other as Rex walked out; Gaia always did like to hear Mando’a even if she didn’t speak it much herself.

She leaned her head back, letting her eyes close. She didn’t want to sleep, but her body was so weary that all she felt like doing was lying still. It was quiet in the barracks; everyone else was trying very hard to give Gaia the quiet and rest she needed. She’d only just come to that morning, having slept for two days straight.

Between bacta injections and even more sleep, Gaia was ready to get up and walk in a week. Her body cramped in odd ways whenever she first stood up, making her hobble around like an old woman for a few minutes before the pain let go.

She was about to go cabin crazy anyway. Her brothers and sister had tried to keep her company as often as they could without spending too much time not doing their daily exercises, spending allotted time in the library and being seen not worrying about their sister.

But Cody’s absence was the the most pointed of all her many discomforts. Gaia had spotted him ducking into his room a few nights in a row, and had heard him speak to the others, but he’d avoided her. She didn’t know how to take this. Cody had always been there, always present, if not in body then in words or gestures.

She walked into the training yard with a carefully closed expression only have it falter into a grin as startled, disproving and then excited exclamations rose from her brothers and sister. They surrounded her, seeming afraid to touch her in case it might hurt. Gaia yanked them all into a tight group hug, ignoring the twisting feeling in her sternum.

Rex’s arm was almost healed as well and he slung it around her shoulders warmly. He stank of sweat but she didn’t care. They were all alright and back together. The way it was supposed to be.

“I was beginning to wonder if you be in that bed forever,” Shriek said with a laugh as she messed his feathery brown hair.

“We broke the bench record,” Soren reported brightly, motioning to the weight station. “259.”

“Oh ho. Looks like I got up just in time then.”

“Cadets. Report to the hangar bay.” Cody’s voice carried the familiar sour note that he always used for the public, but Gaia suddenly felt a twinge of worry that something she had done might’ve made this time more real.

“Come on,” she said and they filed out of the training yard.

The hangar bay was empty, not one ship occupying the wide space. It was quiet as a tomb, no noise of business anywhere. The only person waiting for the squad was Captain Cody, his expression unreadable. There was a table beside him with a long black rectangle set atop it. Gaia couldn’t tell what it was; there were no seams or locks of any kind on it.

“Attention.” Gaia’s voice cut the stillness of the room like a rifle blast.

Cody eyed them all for a long moment, and then took something from one of the pouches on his belt. It was a mini-holo projector. He fiddled with it for a second and then his voice spoke out of it. “Get your back straight, Cadet. Soldiers have fought for weeks on end without so much as a bacta patch with worse than what you got.”

Cody set the thing down on the table and then stepped to the front of the line, next to Shriek. He spoke low, leaning down so that his mouth was right next to the boy’s ear. Shriek stood at strict attention, but Gaia saw the shine of tears in his eyes. Cody gestured behind himself at the table and Shriek nodded.

Shriek hurried over to the glossed black thing on the table and passed his hand over it. There was a soft click somewhere inside it and a seam of white light split it across the middle. The top half of the split smoothly slid upward, folding backward to reveal several objects within.

Gaia felt Shriek’s surprise and then sheer joy hum in the Force, fighting to contain her unconscious smile as her brother turned and gave Cody a stunned look. Cody silently chuckled at the boy, eyes crinkling up at the corners. Rex was right. He did look older.

He nodded encouragingly to Shriek, who reached in and pulled out a sleek black cylinder with an emitter affixed to one end. There were soft grips around the thing, giving it a slight curve. A cold hiss and then hum, much louder than that of a stun baton, filled the air as a beam of golden light shot from the emitter. Shriek’s mouth fell open as he inspected the lightsaber, turning his arm and making a few mock attacks before sheathing it. The grin on his face was blinding as he paced a little and then bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly, unable to express what he was feeling.

Cody’s recorded voice was still bellowing rancorously from the projector but his face was almost glowing as he walked further down the line. Kali beamed and drew out two shoto blades, each no longer than her own forearm. They were golden as well, fitted onto sturdy black hilts that Kali easily clipped onto her belt. She covered her mouth with her hands and twirled before hugging Cody around the middle.

Soren and Rex went together. Cody helped Soren put on a new pair of lovely black and yellow gauntlets, stepping back so the boy could try them out. He unsheathed the lightsabers and cut them down in an X, just as Rex activated his double sabers and spun them about himself gracefully. They grinned at one another; there would be sparring later.

Finally, it was Gaia’s turn. Cody walked over to her, his expression becoming troubled. When he leaned toward her to speak in her ear, Gaia noticed how careful he was not to bump into her accidentally. “How are you?”

She met his eyes and nodded. “Are you okay?”

A half smile curled his mouth up but his eyes stayed hollow. “I’m fine.” She could feel guilt lifting off of him in waves, almost to the point that it made her sick. But then he seemed to shake off whatever was haunting him, the loudness of his emotions dulling, and straightened his shoulders a little. “Go over to the box. Yours is the last one.”

Gaia wanted to feel worried about Cody, and she was, but knowing now what the box contained, she couldn’t ignore the excitement pounding in her veins. She stepped over quickly and drew out a saberstaff.

“Give it a workout,” Cody encouraged, eyes wrinkling at the corners. Gaia grinned and spun the weapon over in her hands. The blade ignited, sending a subtle hum of energy down through the staff. She sprang back from the box and the table, whirling the staff over her head and then striking at either side. The noise that the blade made it cut through the air around her was electrifying.

Cody pulled Gaia close before she returned to the line and held out his hands for the staff. He took it and twisted, breaking the long pole of the thing in half. “Wear them the way you would a baton,” he instructed. “Both halves will emit blades,” Cody added with a whisper. “Just in case you’re in a situation where a long weapon would be harm than help.”

“Thank you, Papa,” she told him, feeling her throat tighten.

Cody regarded Gaia for a moment and then pulled her into a hug, motioning for the others join. “I am so proud of each of you,” he whispered, dropping down to one knee which was something Cody liked to do so that he could see all their faces better. His voice continued to shout from the holo, but it was just noise to those who loved him. “Your have each earned this; not one Cadet your age has ever earned a lightsaber. Be proud of yourselves.”

He stood and smiled. “You should go and get familiar with your new weapons,” Cody dismissed, but he touched Gaia on the wrist, a silent cue to stay. They quietly watched the others hurrying out excitedly, the others knowing well when to allow their leader and their captain to speak alone.

“What’s wrong?” Gaia whispered as soon as everyone was out of their sight, searching Papa’s face with wide eyes. Stress was written plainly on the man’s face and his hands were clenched into tight fists behind his back.

The captain retained his straight-backed bearing until he was sure they were alone and then Cody’s posture deflated so much that he seemed to shrink. “Come here,” he muttered, scooping his arms around Gaia and hugging her close with a wavering sigh, though his motions were careful and he didn’t squeeze as tight as he might’ve otherwise. “Does it hurt still?”

“A little.” Gaia’s breath hitched a little and she hid her eyes in Cody’s shoulder. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” Cody pulled back so he could see her face and made a pained sound, looking away for a moment. “No, no, no,” was all said, shaking his head as he dropped down to one knee and gathered up her hands.

“You weren’t there,” Gaia sniffed, swiping her cheek against her shoulder in an effort to stop her tears. “... when I woke up.”

“It’s one thing to watch grown soldiers get hurt, baby girl.” There was a definite break in his voice toward the end and Cody had to pause, searching quickly for something else to look at. “I couldn’t stand it. I’m so sorry.”

Gaia put her hands on Papa‘s shoulders. In the Force, she could feel the anxiety churning inside him like a stormy ocean, threatening to spill over his barriers at any moment.

“There’s something else.”

He dropped his head, eyes closing as if he were readying himself for something painful. “You’re being deployed.” The words seemed to cost Cody something to utter. Fear screamed at her through the Force, stealing her breath.

“We are ready.”

Gaia’s own voice surprised her. She sounded older, like a grownup. She straightened her back, hoping that she looked brave. She didn’t want Cody to be afraid or to worry. She wanted him to proud. He would be proud.

“I’m not,” he admitted gently. “You’re my children, or you might as well be. What if... if something happens to you out there where I can’t burst in, blaster blazing-”

“We’ll come back. I promise, Papa.” She cupped her hands around his face, making him look at her right in the eyes. “I’ll bring them all back. I promise.” The fear inside her Papa didn’t lessen but the gnaw of it in his chest did. He believed her. He trusted her. That was good.

A sudden thought hit Gaia and she laughed. “You shot Rend.”

Cody’s face split into an eye-crinkling grin, and he kissed Gaia’s forehead as he stood up. “I sure did. He’s lucky I was careful with my aim.”

They walked out together after Cody gathered up his holo. “Would you have killed him? If he hadn’t went down?” Gaia turned her head to watch Cody’s reaction with interest.

Papa slowed, slipping the disc into a compartment on his belt. Before he slipped his helmet back on, Gaia caught the dark, taught shadow that had replaced his previously gentle expression. The look made her shiver. In the Force, she felt the quiet but unmistakable bloom of rage. “Absolutely.”

#sunshine squad #stars wars fa fiction #commander cody #my oc’s

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thesoobfiles · 4 years ago

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pregnancy pains – a. skywalker

Request: anon, Anakin Skywalker x Reader where maybe she’s giving birth to the twins and Anakin comes back but he’s not with the dark side? Also, I wanna make the Reader like Padmé.

Words: 2.1k

Summary: Representative (L/N) of Aiphos is the secret wife of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. Her Senator friends know she’s married, but to who they have no idea. She’s also 9 months pregnant and ready to pop; however, the stress of the war isn’t making her pregnancy any better. What will become of Mr. and Mrs. Skywalker and their child?

A/N: i really do feel bad when i pump out requests so late; but, please understand i try to write as often as i can. also, Aiphos is a product of my imagination to keep accuracy on all other planets in the Star Wars universe. i’d like to add i wasn’t sure how much anon wanted the reader to be like Padmé so i tried to give them a similar speech pattern and made them both involved in politics.

“Here, let me help you.” Senator Bail Organa hurries to my side as I attempt and wobble out of the Senate meeting.

“Thanks, Bail.” I say as I accept his help, placing my arm around his neck while his arm goes to my side.

“You shouldn’t be flying at this stage in your pregnancy, (Y/N).” Bail reminds me as we walk out of the building and over to my speeder.

“I know, I know; but it’s only to my apartment. It’s not like I’m flying all the way back to Aiphos.” I reason.

“Ugh.” I groan as I bend over in pain. The baby is kicking again. Fiery little one, just like Anakin…

“Are you alright? Should we go to the hospital instead?” Bail asks me with concern, “The Hospital Plaza is just around the corner…”

“My water hasn’t broken yet and the contractions haven’t started, so I’m going to have to decline.” I reply with a strained voice, still in pain from the baby’s little kicks.

Bail stands between me and my speeder and grabs a hold of my arms, “Are you sure?” he asks, putting emphasis on every word.

“Yes, Bail. I think I’ll be fine; my husband returns home tonight and I’m sure he’ll take care of me.” I say to try and put Bail at ease. Earlier this evening, Anakin left to handle some Jedi business involving Master Windu and Chancellor Palpatine. He said he’d come back soon and I’m hoping soon is tonight.

“You aren’t the only one to worry about my safety; Padmé lent me 3PO so I wouldn’t have to fly alone.” I say as Bail releases my arms and my speeder is now in view.

“Mistress (Y/N)! How wonderful it is to see you!” C-3PO announces from the pilot’s seat of my speeder.

“It’s nice to see you too, 3PO. Even though we just saw each other before the meeting.” I remind the gold-plated protocol droid.

“Yes, but those meetings seem to drone on for eternity.” He replies back as he resettles into the speeder.

I giggle at his statement and look back at Bail, “Be safe.” He reminds me.

“Always am!” I respond as I walk closer to the speeder, “The next time you see me, I won’t be wearing maternity dresses anymore!” I joke as I sit beside 3PO. I hear Bail chuckle as he waves goodbye. I wave back as 3PO starts up the speeder and zooms off.

“Have you told anyone of the marriage?” I ask curiously. C-3PO and R2D2 were the only witnesses Anakin and I had at our wedding in order to keep it secret.

“Of course not, Mistress (Y/N).” He replies, “Your engagement is a secret only R2 and I have the pleasure of knowing.”

“Not even Padmé?” I ask for reassurance.

“Not even Mistress Padmé.” He confirms.

“Excellent.” I say, feeling a little more at peace knowing no one knows of our marriage.

“Will Master Anakin be there when we arrive?” C-3PO asks curiously.

“He said he would return soon; I just hope soon is tonight, but I’m not really sure…”

As soon as I finished my statement, I notice my apartment coming into view. The rest of the ride is quiet as we approach the building. 3PO lands the speeder and climbs out. He then rushes to the passenger side to aid me.

“Thank you, 3PO.”

“My pleasure, Mistress (Y/N).”

We walk inside to see Anakin meditating in front of the fireplace, the only light source in the apartment aside from the moonlight shining in through the giant window. From what I can see, he’s still wearing his Jedi robes and his hair is a mess.

“Hello, my love.” He says as he gets up from his spot to come hug me.

“Ani.” I say as I wrap my arms around him, “Did everything go ok? With Master Windu and the Chancellor?”

“Everything went…” He trails off.

- 10 minutes ago –

I came running down the hall to see Master Windu with his lightsaber at the Chancellor’s throat.

“You are under arrest, my lord.” Master Windu says. He suddenly takes notice of my presence and looks in my direction.

“Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine starts, “I told you it would come to this. I was right, the Jedi are taking over!” He wheezes.

“The oppression of the Sith will never return!” Master Windu assures him, “You have lost.”

“No, no, no,” The Chancellor’s voice changes from smooth and manipulative to deep and raspy, “You will die!” He shouts as he shoots lightning out of his fingers at Master Windu. He blocks it with his purple-bladed lightsaber and continues to defend himself, but struggles to gain control.

Chancellor Palpatine struggles as well, to say his next few words, “He’s a traitor!”

“He is the traitor!” Master Windu retorts as he pushes his defense against the Chancellor.

“I have the power to save the one you love.” Chancellor Palpatine wheezes as his skin begins to change from the contact of his own lightning, “You must choose!”

“Don’t listen to him, Anakin!” Master Windu urges me as he pushes his lightsaber further in the Chancellor’s direction.

“Don’t let him kill me.” Chancellor Palpatine says as the lightning begins to stop flowing from his fingertips, “I can’t hold it any longer… Anakin, help me.”

“I am going to end this, once and for all.” Master Windu states with determination in his voice.

“You can’t, he must stand trial.” I reason with him.

“And what of Count Dooku?” Master Windu inquires, “Did he not deserve to stand trial?”

I widen my eyes at his statement. I’m caught off-guard by his reminder and am rendered speechless; he has a valid point.

“Remember, it was the Chancellor that told you to kill him.” He reminds me, “Why would a member of the Senate and leader of the Republic urge you to kill him when there was another way?”

“He-he’s distracting you, Anakin!” Chancellor Palpatine quickly shouts.

“Think about it, Anakin…” Master Windu urges me to take into consideration the situation at hand, “Does ‘he was too dangerous to be kept alive’ ring any bells?”

I look up at Master Windu and he looks back at me with hope and I look down at Chancellor Palpatine and he looks up at me with fear, for he said those words to me not too long ago.

“I can sense you are torn between decisions, young Skywalker. May I add that the only reason the Council hasn’t granted you the status of Master was because we were afraid the Chancellor was using you to spy on us?” Master Windu provides, “Once this ordeal is over, the Council has decided to give you the title of Master.”

“Empty promises, Anakin! He just wants to hinder you from making the best decision!” Chancellor Palpatine shouts.

“Make the right choice, Anakin.” He says calmly, ending his argument. I think about the Chancellor and his allegiance, about the Jedi Council and their decisions, and about (Y/N) and what’s best for her.

“I understand what needs to be done, Master.” I reply and step back from the fight at hand. Master Windu nods in my direction and quickly thrusts his lightsaber into the former Chancellor’s heart. He gasps and dies moments later.

- 5 minutes later -

“… great. Everything went great.” Anakin finally states with a smile on his face.

“That’s wonderful, Ani.” I say as I begin to feel something trickle down my leg. I step back from our hug only to double over in pain.

“(Y/N)! Are you alright?” Anakin asks, worry evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” I manage to say, “my water just broke. No big deal…”

“Oh dear.” I hear 3PO say from his place by the couch.

Anakin sweeps me off my feet with ease and rushes out the door. I grunt as I hold my stomach in an attempt to take away the pain.

He kisses my forehead, “Don’t worry, I’m taking you to the hospital.” I moan in response.

He runs to my speeder and gently places me in the passenger seat. He jumps into the pilot seat and wastes no time in speeding away from the apartment.

“Ah!” I shout as the baby continues to kick me.

“The contractions… Are they close together or far apart?” Anakin asks me and I respond with another proclamation of pain.

“Close together it is.” He says, somehow going faster than he already was.

Within a couple seconds, we are outside of the Hospital Plaza. Not the best place in my opinion, since this hospital is so close to the Senate building, but who am I to complain when there’s a child pushing itself out of me?

Anakin messily parks the speeder in the hospital parking lot. He hurriedly jumps out, rushes to my side and picks me up in his arms once more, running into the hospital.

“Someone, help! She’s going into labor!” Anakin shouts in the waiting room of the hospital. I groan after his plea and within seconds, a doctor and a couple of medical droids come with a stretcher. Anakin places me on the stretcher and follows them as they push me into an all-white room with various medical equipment.

The doctor stands in the doorframe and holds his hand out in front of Anakin, “Spouse only.” He states in a deep voice.

“Well good thing I’m her husband.” I hear him reply sassily. If I weren’t in so much pain, I might have laughed.

The doctor ushers him in, closes the door and shuts the curtains to the observation window.

“Agh!” I shout as I have been doing for the past couple minutes.

By the time Anakin comes over and holds my hand, they’ve already laid me down on the bed in the room and prepared me to have this baby.

“Push.” The mechanical voice of the medical droid instructs me.

“Well what do you think I’ve been doing for the past few minutes?!” I ask, exasperated.

Anakin chuckles beside me and holds my hand. I squeeze his hand with all my might to hopefully relieve some of the excruciating pain I’m in. He bends down and whispers sweet nothings into my ear.

“It’s ok.”

“The head is visible.” The droid states.

“This will all be over soon.”

“The lower body is all that is left.” It drones.

“I’m here for you.”

I close my eyes as I focus on the sound of his voice and bringing this child into the world.

“It’s a boy.” The medical droid says as it hands the baby over to the doctor.

“Luke.” I say, still in pain. Something tells me, Luke isn’t the only baby I’m giving birth to today.

The doctor finishes cleaning up Luke and gives him to Anakin.

“Hello there…” He says as he cradles the baby.

“There is another one on the way.” The droid confirms my suspicions.

“What?” Anakin says, surprised. He looks over at me, but I’m too focused on getting this other baby out. This one is a lot less painful and comes out relatively quickly.

“It’s a girl.” It says, handing her to the doctor to get cleaned up.

“Leia.” I announce, finally done giving birth for the next couple of years.

The doctor finishes cleaning her up and hands her to me, “Congratulations, Ms. (L/N). You’ve given birth to-“

“Twins…” Anakin cuts him off with a smile on his face. He looks over at me and Leia and his smile widens.

“Why Luke and Leia?” Anakin asked curiously.

“I don’t know; those names just… spoke to me.” I decided.

“Luke and Leia Skywalker…” Anakin says, “has a nice ring to it.”

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your-old-sins-tournament · 10 months ago

Text

12 YEAR OLD OCS; SIDE A

Ash [@changeling-ash] (she/her)

She is so cool. My little self insert. My baby. Epic powerful magic.

Ash was part of a secret subspecies of humans (Homo sapiens dimutus) which could shapeshift, which she used to grow huge black wings or turn into a black leopard or look like a monster to scare enemies, anything as long as her brain stayed the same size or got denser to fit smaller. When she shapeshifted she would release green and blue fire from the power of the transformation (cause she has lots of copper in her blood that burns green. To protect against cancer, you see. Shapeshifting has lots of cancer risk so copper is sooo important)

She became one by genetic engineering at 15 so the dimutus could get more soldiers and spies for a war with the demon-like psyuedos (child soldier lol). She could come back to life because she had a failsafe that would activate where she would shapeshift away the wound and her brain would jolt back online. The only way to kill a dimutus was to kill the brain.

Like other dimutus, she could also dimension hop, so she'd travel the multiverse, from tv show to tv show or to the universe with dragons or with cool landscapes. She was good with a sword and something called a bladed quarterstaff, which is basically one of those two sided lightsabers but a blade. She was mentored by one of the most powerful dimutus of the war and is super powerful too compared to other dimutus.

Propaganda from the old post

Okay time for my propaganda once more!

Ash is my girl, my baby.

She has TWO dragons. The first one is Flicker, who is strong and agile with black scales and a violet belly. Ash rides on her back and she speaks dragon at her. Her other dragon is Zephyr, who she raised from an egg and he looks like a blue sky with white patches like clouds, and random little flecks of gold scales. He's lithe and fast and so agile. She can summon them from their alternate universes by calling out "Tul Lüg" for Flicker and "Zep-iagh" for Zephyr, and they leap from portals to fight.

She can speak so many languages. The language of Dimutus is actually Modernized Latin. She knows English, Spanish, French, Latin, Italian, ASL, and has the best translators.

She made friends with a shadowy wolf companion called a Shadowlupe who accepted her as part of the pack. She runs with him in hunts as a wolf.

She can do a double backflip. Enough said.

She would fly with huge black wings, it was her favorite thing to do. Knew how to do all the tricks. She is dimension hopping miles in the air just to fall for ages, then fly at breakneck speeds. And she was terrifying in battle, she would dodge and weave and slash as she passed, an airborne killing machine.

She could give herself big springy legs to jump so high and do crazy tricks. She adapted herself to move fast, bounce and parkour her way at insane speeds. She could traverse so well.

She also did normal parkour. It was a fun challenge to try with minimal modifications. Pretended a lot of parkour POV vids were her.

She had two cats trained to infiltrate bases cause they are kitties and can fit through the vents and no one suspects the kitties. Baya was a Bengal and Shadow was a beautiful medium hair black cat.

She could also dimension hop in a way that was like astral projecting. She'd just be floatin, near invisible. She'd keep her wings in that state to pull them from the dimension fast to use them quickly. Her friends would chill there and comment to her while she was doing boring things.

She had a ragtag best friend and copilot partner Katie that was the mostest important person to her. Her brother in arms, her guy in the chair, her support, and Ash was the same to Katie. They were ride or die, and they died a lot for each other. (I basically made a QPP a decade before I myself ended up in one. Probably an early sign I was aro.)

She lost her arm sometimes, and she'd have a badass prosthetic if she couldn't shapeshift it back right away.

So much trauma from being a child soldier will come later. Her future character with me a decade later is somethin.

Sakura

Shes a fat black trans lady catgirl is that enough…

Description: she is a galaxy knee length haired calico cat girl teenager, she has galaxy eyes and goes to highschool and wears a young anime kids idea of a school uniform (sailor scout kinda thing) and her arch nemesis is named ‘jessaca’ and she has a big poofy cat tail and big lashes and she meows

#oc #bracket tournament #polls #ocs you made when you were 12 tournament #old sins #ocs #sakura #ash #side a

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asterian · 4 years ago

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Crossed paths (Kanan Jarrus x reader)

Request: hi i was wondering if you could do Kanan Jarrus's reaction to there S/o being a Gray jedi that has a blue and red lightsaber and that thy learned about the force and their abilities from the bendu. Requested by @ask-oran

Words: 1,545

A/n: hi, thanks for reading my stuff 😘 I hope you like it.

"Everybody, run!" screamed Kanan turning his lightsaber on deflecting the shots from the blasters while Ezra and Sabine were rushing with the crates.

This was supposed to be an easy mission. Reports said it was an abandoned trading station with enough rations to feed the whole Phoenix squadron, without imperial security and ready to be picked, it was too good to be true.

It was an ambush.

"This way!" pointed Sabine at a another corridor shooting her blaster with one hand and holding the crate with the other "come on!"

If it would had been a couple of stormtroopers, or even a battalion the team could have stopped them with ease, but this was different.

They had almost made it to the hangar when a dark figure was standing in the middle of the hallway, making them stop their tracks. It was an Inquisitor, the fifth brother to be specific and after facing some of them in the past, Kanan knew sometimes it was better to run.

"Sabine, Ezra, get the boxes to the shuttle" ordered Kanan getting closer to the Inquisitor in front of them who ignited his double lightsaber in a threatening way. "I'll hold him up, hurry" he said with a confident nod. The kids obeyed and ran in another direction, taking the long way to the ship.

"It's just us now, Jedi" hissed the fifth brother before making his first attack, his weapon crushed against Kanan's with a loud crash.

They moved around battling, it was almost like a dance, a rather deadly dance that involved very dangerous blades. Kanan did his very best to resist the thrust his opponent sword was making to the right, up, down and right again, the Fifth brother swing his blade while keeping a stone face. The poor Jedi was struggling to keep up with the attacks.

The Inquisitor was too strong and with a swift move he disarmed Kanan sending him to the floor with a strong kick on the stomach.

"Ready to die, Jedi?" warned the dark creature towering over Kanan getting the tip of the red blade dangerously closer to his throat. Then the fifth brother raised the lightsaber into the air ready to kill the man on the floor and gave a powerful strike that was stopped midway for another red blade.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you" you spoke, owning an angry growl from the assassin.

Kanan saw you pull something out of your waist, another lightsaber. You turned it on and this time, for Kanan's surprise it was blue. A thousand questions started to run in Jarrus's mind: who was this person? What were you doing here? What were you? A Jedi? A Sith? and most important, why were you helping him?

"Hey!" you screamed at the green eyed man who was still on the floor with a confused look. "A little help?"

Kanan shook his head and got up, attracting his own lightsaber with the force and turning it on he ran to fight by your side.

The fifth brother was the first to attack again, this time using both sides of his red lightsaber. You rushed to the fight throwing a few attacks while Kanan took as well a few of them both coordinating to dodge the powerful thrust of the big man, it actually surprised not only you but Kanan how good you two worked together.

Finally the fifth brother started to back off, overwhelmed by the attacks he struggled to focus on both of you, he couldn't it was just too much. So he chose you as his target hitting his saber with all his strength but was stopped by your two lightsabers in front of you. Kanan saw you having problems and pushed the man with the force sending him flying through the air and knocking down the Inquisitor.

"He's not going to stay like that a lot" told you Kanan as you looked at the fifth brother laid inconsistent on the floor. "We should go"

You nodded at the man before speaking realizing you didn't know his name so you decided to give him yours. "I'm (y/n), by the way"

"Jarrus, Kanan Jarrus" he said offering you a hand for you to shake. When you did, you couldn't help but let yourself lost a bit in his green stare. Who was this man?

"Spectre 1, we are ready" said a girl through the comlink, breaking the moment.

"Took you long enough" he said answering his communicator "I'm on my way" he hanged up and then looked at you "my friends are coming for me, want a ride?"

You took a second to think his offer. Knowing the empire would send reinforcements and the Inquisitor would wake up soon you decided to take your chances with the Jedi, besides, the force around him was telling you to follow him.

You ran with Kanan to the hangar where his friends were waiting for him.

"Come on!" yelled a blue haired boy standing on the ramp of the ship "wow! who is this?" he said once you both were inside.

"No time to explain" snapped Kanan "Chopper, get us outta here!"

And with that, the little shuttle jumped into the blue and white spiral of the hyperspace.

After a little introduction you were bombed with questions from the small team.

"What were you doing in the station?" asked the mandalorian girl who seemed not to trust you.

"I received a transmission about an abandoned station with supplies, so I came" you explained "I never thought I would face an Inquisitor"

"I didn't thank you for helping me, without you I don't think I would have made it" spoke Kanan who was leaning on the wall of the ship.

"It was nothing" you claimed, giving him a soft smile.

"So… you are a Jedi?" Ezra questioned looking at your lightsabers hanging on your hips.

"Not exactly" you said softly. The Spectres exchanged a confused look. Kanan thought that maybe you were a padawan when order 66 came up and didn't finish your training, just like him.

"Who was your master? I don't think we knew back on the temple" he said rubbing the bad of his neck with a hand.

"I was never on the order" you assured "I was trained by the Bendu"

"What's a Bendu?" asked Ezra.

"The Jedi and Sith wield the Ashla and the Bogan, the light and the dark. He is the one in the middle" you explained the kid just how your master would have explained to someone that came his way looking for answers.

"Sure" said the boy very confused "but who are Ashla and Bogan?"

"Ezra" growled Kanan rubbing his eyes and letting out an irritated sigh.

This only made you laugh, and something inside the Jedi felt warm at your laughter.

•••••

Getting out of hyperspace, in Garel, piloting the ship, Sabine headed to the place the rest of the team would be waiting for them. This was time for you to go back home, and even though they tried to convince you to stay, you couldn't. So they offered to at least take somewhere you could take a ship.

"We'll be there in about ten minutes" said the girl with colored hair.

Kanan was sitting next to you, wishing you would somehow stay.

"You fight good" he said awkwardly and instantly facepalm himself in his mind.

"So you do" you responded politely.

"We could use someone like you, in the rebellion" he tried, owning a chuckle from you.

"Nah, they have you" you said looking directly into his green eyes "besides, I am not fighting an intergalactic war, not yet"

He understood, even himself wasn't always sure about the war and where would all that lead, and knew you might need time to think before joining "the cause" , but he was sure of one thing: he didn't want you to go.

"Anyways, I would like you to come with me… I mean us-with the team" he spluttered. Looking down at his feet and blushing. You only giggled.

"Hey" you said softly placing a hand on his shoulder making him look at you "don't worry, we'll see each other again" you added and he gave you a half smile.

"I can't land, sorry (y/n), you're gonna have to jump" you heard the mandalorian screamed when you arrived to the place.

"Thanks everyone" you said and walked towards the ramp that was slowly opening followed by Kanan.

"I guess this is goodbye" said the Jedi a bit sad when you both reached the ramp.

"I guess it is" you confirmed. He looked at you as if he was trying to memorize your features before speaking again.

"May the Force be with you" he said and you nodded in response. Before taking the last step out of the ship you turned around with a smile.

"See you around, Kanan Jarrus" he heard you say and then you jumped out of the ship.

#kanan jarrus #kanan jarrus x reader #kanan jarrus x you #kanan jarrus x y/n #star wars imagine #star wars rebels #star wars #asterian #bendu #ezra bridger #sabine wren #sw rebels #caleb dume x y/n #caleb dume x you #caleb dume x reader #caleb dume #gender neutral reader

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soulnottainted · 4 years ago

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The Force Guide

// Kelsey meets someone she'd thought she would never see again //

BM0 beeped nervously as Master Kelsey Jinn Gallhea, now just Kelsey Jinn, gathered the fabric of the thick poncho that kept her warm. She stepped out of the small ship she had paid handsomely to rent from one of the vendors at the Black Spire Outpost and stepped into the marshy ground of Dagobah. The blue and white BB unit uneasily looked at the fog and murky terrain all around them, concerned for his human friend. He had always been concerned for her, ever since she had purchased him twelve years ago. BM0 was her friend, companion, and all that the blond former Jedi had. He was the only one left.

"I know it looks scary BM0, but Master Yoda said we would be safe upon our arrival here," the now 31 year old Kelsey replied.

BM0's beep sounded like a long sigh, as after a few moments later, he carefully ejected himself from the ship's droid control station, and onto the wet, grassy landscape. His human companion's lightsaber clinked gently against her leg, securely fastened to her belt. She hadn't taken it out of a locked box since the Order was given, and the Jedi were slain. Keeping her Jedi identity a secret was both easy and difficult. She could hide her weapon and robes, but her strong connection to the Force and techniques for living could give her away anytime. Luckily, nobody seemed to figure that out yet.

The long, large sand-colored poncho wasn't hers. It was long worn before, and it showed it's age, but Kelsey didn't mind that at all. It was once her father's after all. Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Master who took her as his own, alongside his own padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, wore that piece of clothing on many trips to different parts of the galaxy.

Kelsey remembered when she was a youngling, she would constantly hide under it when it was worn by Jinn, who chuckled warmly and always scooped her up into his arms. She always played hide and seek with her adopted brother, who was seven years her senior.

"I don't think that is a wise hiding place, little one," Qui-Gon would say as he would keep her in his strong hold, a laugh escaping on the curves of his words.

"But you're there to protect me, Master," Kelsey replied, her eyepatch covering her left eye protested with a giggle. When she was young, she wore eyepatches to train her defective eye, but after awhile, it was utterly useless.

"Ah yes," the Maverick would nod agreeing, jokingly, "I know that your brother is quite the fiend."

Then, he smirked, raising his eyebrow, lowering his voice to a whisper, "Why don't we turn the tide this once and be the fiends ourselves for a change, hm?"

"Yes!" a tiny Kelsey replied before clinging her small arms around Qui-Gon's neck, the both of them ready to show Obi-Wan no mercy with tickling.

"Come on, let's go get him!"

When Master Jinn had died at the double-bladed saber of Darth Maul, the worlds of Obi-Wan and Kelsey were devastated. They both had to adapt to enormous change in such a short amount of time. Obi-Wan became a Jedi Master, and took on the position as such to a young Anakin Skywalker. Kelsey had been given a new Master to follow: Master Tinian Vorru. Vorru was strict to the Jedi Code, which clashed with Kelsey's upbringing by the wise maverick. It took a long time before they started to have any connection as master and padawan. Tinian Vorru, Kelsey had guessed now, had died when Order 66 was broadcasted. Tinian wasn't Qui-Gon, he wouldn't be her father, but in the end, she did form a daughterly relationship with him. He was gone now, like the others.

Along with the things that Kelsey had saved from Qui-Gon's possessions, she chose to keep his woven poncho close. She brought it everywhere she went, like one would have a baby blanket. She used it as a blanket most nights, but she wore it whenever the weather on other planets called for it.

"Come on, let's set up camp for the night," Kelsey trudged through the damp wetlands, the droid trying to not get stuck spinning like a tire would in mud, "There must be a dry place to have a fire."

On Dagobah, it was definitely cold when the sun had gone, and all there was left was marshland. With that, Kelsey rolled her arms up with the front cloth of the poncho, attempting to keep her hands warm. Night was falling quickly, and a fire was the most important thing. Kelsey still didn't know why she was there; Master Yoda only instructed her to go there on one particular date. That date was today, and still she couldn't sense any visions of what this visit would bring. All she knew, was that because it was from Master Yoda, it was important.

An hour of searching for dry wood and a stable place to set it, Kelsey ignited her green saber and lit the batch until it turned into a warm, orange flame. A tired sigh escaped her, and sat down next to the area of warmth. BM0 wanted to be right by his friend's side, but the flames would have surely melted some of his paint off, so he kept behind her, offering small droid talk for reassurance.

"I just don't know why I'm supposed to be here, 'M0," she murmured, shaking her head, "I can sense something in the Force. This planet feels like it is engulfed in it, and yet I don't know what to expect to happen here. There has to be a reason. I know Master Yoda is no fool."

The BB unit rolled forward until he gently nudged her back, like a human hand would place itself. Of course he didn't have hands...

"Maybe if I meditate, the Force will show itself."

The Jedi Order wouldn't admit it, but Kelsey was one of the most prominent Force wielders. Going off of Qui-Gon's teachings, Kelsey spent most of her time in meditative state, learning and understanding the world around her, and traversing the void of light and dark. The force didn't whisper to her, but channeled through her, nurtured her. The force was there for her when all she had was her own thoughts. It would always be there for her.

Bringing her legs to be crossed, and her hands going to rest on the tips of her knees, Kelsey closed her eyes to clear her mind. Clearly she could sense the enormous amount of the Force. It hit her like a freight train, but after the initial shock, it was like a breath of fresh air. Not even on Coruscant where the central Jedi Temple was the Force this...free. The Jedi Master's shoulders and muscles relaxed, including her jaw, as she went deeper into mediation.

The question of "Why am I here?" echoed in her mind, hoping for an answer.

She didn't expect to get one.

"I am here because you are here."

An echoing, familiar voice replied. It was deep, warm, and strengthened; it was a voice Kelsey only dreamed of hearing again. But the girl noticed that the voice wasn't in her head...It was right next to her. Then she heard BM0 exclaim in excitement behind her, which alerted her to open her eyes.

On the left side of the fire, there was a translucent blue figure, bound in light, dressed in the Jedi robes he had been buried in. He looked exactly as Kelsey remembered him, and tears immediately formed and fell down her cheeks.

"N-No," the woman's voice wavered, "This can't be. This is a vision, nothing more."

The spirit of her late adopted father shook his head, a soft smile tried to convince her otherwise, "I can assure you, little one, it isn't. You have grown up beautifully, like the woman I hoped you'd grow up to be."

The second sentence made Kelsey Jinn crack, her disbelief being washed away by the streams of her crying. She couldn't hold herself together as her small form started to tremble. The years of not getting proper time or reassurance to grieve Qui-Gon's death were unleashed before his own force ghost. The younger Jinn placed her face in her hands in attempt to hide her emotions. Years of the Order telling her to not grow attachments and not showing emotions such as love that would get in the way with missions, broke the foundation Qui-Gon had made for his two padawan children.

"M-Master Qui-Gon?" Kelsey's tone was so hopeful, but still trying to believe that he was truly there. Crying suffocated her voice, but luckily the ghost could understand.

"Yes, Kelsey. I am here." The voice started getting closer as he said that. Then, a cool feeling gently went down the back of her head. That prompted her to slowly lift her face out of her water-soaked hands, to look up. Above her stood the comforting spirit, smiling down at her, his hand going from running through Kelsey's hair, down to resting on her shoulder, "I have waited so long to reveal myself to you. I wanted to wait until I could manifest physically before telling Master Yoda to bring you to me."

"You...You're the reason Master Yoda sent me here?" she sniffled.

"Mm. I had learned the knowledge of becoming a part of the cosmic force, but in order to manifest, it took some time."

Slowly, Kelsey rose to stand, being almost two feet shorter than Qui-Gon. Her eyes studied him, looking at every facial feature she could. Thirteen years it had been since Master Jinn had died on Naboo. Thirteen years since Kelsey stood beside Obi-Wan and young Anakin watching their father traditionally burned into ash. Thirteen years since her world had come crashing down.

"I hoped I could commune with you and Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon continued, the softness of his complexion never faltering for his daughter's sake, "But it took longer than anticipated, and I am sorry for that. Please know that through the force, I have been with you every time you channel it. I know what you have been through, both of you, and none of it was easy. You, Kelsey, have blossomed into a remarkable woman. I couldn't have asked for more."

Slowly, Kelsey reached out a hand. Maybe if she could touch his shoulder-

But her hand went through. It was solid cold, causing Kelsey's hand to jerk back.

"I'm a spirit, I am no longer living," Jinn commented, and Kelsey nodded, trying to hold back tears at the fact that she couldn't hug him.

"I-I miss you," she broke down again.

A translucent hand cupped the woman's cheek, a finger straying to wipe a tear away. Qui-Gon stepped closer, so that he was right in front of his living daughter, looking down at her.

"I've missed you too...very, very much," he murmured, "And I hope that even in spirit, I can be here for you. I am so very proud of you, Kelsey."

Then, he looked down at something familiar. A warm chuckle escaped him, "Is that mine?"

"O-Oh that?" she tried to gather herself emotionally, before her cheeks turned pink, "W-Well uh....Yes. Y-Yes, it is."

Master Jinn's warm laugh made him beam, "Even when I'm gone, you have had to be wrapped in it, hm? At least it fits you a bit more now."

Kelsey smiled brightly through the tears, a laugh escaping her as well, "Yes well...It has always helped me when I needed it most."

"Not just hiding from your brother or taking a nap with it?"

"Well actually, the latter hasn't changed," she shrugged, before the spirit's laugh became even more lively.

"Yes, well, if it serves you well, I can't complain. Besides, that thing was a fashion statement on Tatooine."

"And now a blanket," Kelsey added with a yawn.

As the night went on, Qui-Gon looked after his padawan, his daughter, as if he never left the physical world. Kelsey curled up in the poncho on the ground, his spirit guarding her while she fell asleep. BM0 rolled up to the force ghost before beeping quietly a hello.

"Hello, my little blue friend," the spirit whispered back before looking back down at the girl who took his name. Kelsey Jinn Gallhea. He was proud. Oh, so proud. "I love you," he murmured into her hair before disappearing back into the wellspring that was the cosmic force.

#selfship #self ship #my writing ;;

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